Tango Lessons
by Ethiwen
Summary: Joanne tries to find recreation in New York..and finds a suprise instead. MarkJoanne pairing. Now with a Roger subplot! 15th Chapter is up! COMPLETE!
1. Joanne goes through the looking glass

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT; the gods are not that kind.

Summary: Joanne, tired of her own mundane existence, seeks recreation…

Author's Notes: This story was a random muse. Many thanks to my dearest friend, for always being up for an RPG to help the writing process, being my tango partner, and for helping me get this from disaster to slightly acceptable. Reviews welcome.

Warnings: Bad language…references to sexual exploits.

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Joanne stared into the mirror, studying her chestnut complexion. It had been a long week. Maureen and she had broken up and gotten back together four times, due to Maureen's various…exploits…and yes, a little of Joanne's own controlling attitude. Joanne didn't think she expected much of Maureen. Just the simple decency of not flirting with every human being she saw. She felt she deserved at least that, simply for putting up with Maureen's drama. But Joanne could never leave Maureen, no matter what she did, for the same reason Mark never could. Joanne loved her. It was that simple, but at the same time full of the most baffling complexity, and it made Joanne's head spin. Mark was right, a fucking tango Maureen. But she wouldn't think of that now. The thought of Mark being right made her sick. She wanted to hate him. He was pathetic, and Maureen had left him for her, so Joanne had no need to be jealous…right?

Then that stupid riot broke out after Maureen's show, which meant as Substitute Production Manager, she had to deal with all the legal bullshit that went with it… (Not that that would be difficult…she was, after all, a lawyer by trade… just irritating.) Her parents wouldn't leave her alone about her mother's trial, which was set up already anyway, and it aggravated Joanne to repeatedly tell them, "No, there is not anything else we can do." She was a lawyer, for Christ sake, not a fucking miracle worker. Did it matter to them that they kept raising her stress levels with this idiocy, and their constant reminders that she was not the child they had wanted? Of course not, why would they? And if -that- wasn't enough, now she had to worry about taking that whiny brat Mark to Alexi Darling's, and saving his ass too.

Was that another wrinkle? _Oh…I'm getting old at 28,_ she thought. Not that it was -her- fault that she was aging prematurely. Circumstances are circumstances, but Joanne's entire life seemed to be circumstance. She felt as though she had finally hit the bottom, where she no longer had any hope. She had resigned herself to a life of work and tedium. But even still, she desperately wanted a vacation; she wanted to be anywhere but where she was. She privately dreamed of Spain in the summer, and hoped one day she might really go there, with Maureen in tow if their rocky romance would hold that long. She longed for still, lazy days, bathing in the sun, and visiting ancient monasteries. But for now, she was too busy.

So the only option left was to find some activity within New York that she would be able to relax and have fun with. But she hadn't done anything recreational in so long, she had no idea where to begin. What was there to do in this city? _Well it's New York, after all,_ she mused wryly, _there has to be -something- to do_. Then she remembered Mark and how out of practice she was when he came to help with Maureen's production. She knew what she would do.

Tango lessons.

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Joanne walked down the street, head up instead of down as usual, looking for the tango studio. She didn't know the first thing about dance studios, since she'd learned to dance in a dorm room, so she had randomly selected a Tango studio from the phone book. _Bad idea, Joanne, _she told herself, _now you'll probably end up with some idiot instructor._ Regretting her decision, but not wanting to waste her money, she glimpsed the studio and made for the door. **Ambiguous.** _ Interesting name for a dance studio…_she thought. She walked in and went to the front desk. _Here goes._

"Hello, my name is Joanne Jefferson; I have a private lesson at 4:30." The receptionist, a pert blond, smiled. "Of course Ma'am. If you would sit down in the waiting area, it should be just a few minutes. The Instructor is just finishing up with his last client."

Joanne sat down in a comfortable light blue office chair. _At least the Instructor has a decent sense of style_, she smirked. The office was decorated in shades of blue, rather than the traditional tango red. _Fascinating,_ she observed dryly. She waited nervously for the instructor to call her in. She hadn't really tangoed in years. She was probably going to make a huge fool of herself. _What am I doing?_ she scolded herself mentally.

"Chelsea, you can send in the next client," said a voice from the intercom. In the same instant the royal blue door opened and the previous client walked out. _My turn to go through the looking glass, _she thought. She got up and walked through the royal blue door.

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	2. The Confrontation

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT; the gods are -still- not that kind...no matter how much I pray...

Summary: Joanne seeks vacation and finds an unexpected surprise…can she cope?

Author's Notes: This chapter is up entirely because of my dearest friend. Our RPG's helped decide which tangent to take with this second chapter. Hope you like it. Reviews, as always, are welcome.

Warnings: I think that there's like…one swear word in this chapter…Be careful…or something…

Chapter 2: The Confrontation 

Joanne saw the scarf first; Then the brilliant blond hair. _You have got to be kidding me,_ she thought annoyed, _of all the studios I could have chosen, why the hell did I have to pick Mark Cohen's!_

"Uh…Joanne? You're my new client?" Mark asked perplexed. Joanne clenched her jaw, choosing not to say anything for the time being. This was too surreal, too bizarre. And besides, what would she say? Hi, Mark. I'm here for you to help me brush up on my tango skills? And admit she was coming to him for help? Not in a million years. Joanne Jefferson did not need help from Maureen's pathetic ex-boyfriend…well…at least not -again-.

Mark wore a wavering smile "Uh...okay…Welcome to Ambiguous. I'm Mark. I'll be your instructor…today. Shall we…um…begin? I know you've tangoed before, so we won't start at the beginning. How many years have you been tangoing?" Mark inquired, trying to allow formality to cover the awkwardness between them.

Joanne watched his face for a moment, his awkward smile a happier mirror of her stone expression. This was indeed awkward…_So much for taking a break_.

"Instructor today?" she mocked, not wanting her voice to show the vulnerability she felt, "You work here?"

Mark's smile faltered, as he shifted his gaze from her. "Actually…I -own- …here," he mumbled.

"YOU -OWN- HERE!" Joanne exclaimed! _Woah, Joanne. Easy girl, _she thought_, Don't ever let them see you sweat. You're a lawyer for Christ's sake. You're -paid- to be frightening, and damn it, you're good at what you do. Stare. Intimidate. Never let them think they have the upper hand…even if they do._

"You own here?" Joanne demanded more insistently, "How?"

Mark winced. "Well…it's kind of thanks to you…at least partially. Buzzline managed to scrape a little money, and then another news show, a -real- news show, bought some of the footage I had already shot. With the profits from that I decided to do something that would keep making money…AZT isn't getting any cheaper." He smiled a slight half smile.

Joanne smirked. "Oh I'm glad Buzzline worked for you…really."

What was left of Mark's awkward smile fell away, and he clapped his hands together, and adopted a business-like tone. "So shall we…begin? Maybe we should start with a basic Molinete?"

"Uh…begin?" _Of course Joanne. You're here to brush up on your tango skills._ Amidst all the commotion, Joanne had completely forgotten why she was there, which brought her back to the fact that she was in Mark's tango studio asking him for -help-.

Mark placed his hands, fingertips touching, in front of him. "Yes. You -are- paying for Tango lessons after all."

-Lessons-. Tango -lessons-, he had said. As if she had -anything- to learn from Mark. Well…even if she did she certainly would not say so. But that posed a problem…what to say? Joanne had no idea how to respond without sounding hesitant or defenseless. So she relied on instinct, rather than thought, as she so often did in her profession.

"Not…lessons…-instructor-, she said with a slight edge. "Rather, I was hoping to get back into practice. You understand."

"I see," Mark paused, looking thoughtful, "Then the introduction will be lost on you. Are you ready to begin?"

"Whenever you are…instructor."

Mark cleared his throat, and nodded. "Now then."

Joanne chided herself mentally. _What has your big mouth gotten you into this time?_ Mark, no matter what fabrications spewed from Joanne's lips, was the better dancer. Joanne knew that. She paused briefly, considering how she might get out of the hole that her words had dug. She decided, if only for a moment, to let her guard down and allow Mark to begin. But she could not -show- her weakness. She was playing the part now. She had to prove to Mark that she was in control, so that she could prove to -herself- that she was in control.

Joanne gazed at Mark, fearing him, rather than hating him. For once her face was not set in a stone expression, but rather an expression of apprehension. _Moment of truth, Joanne._

"Okay…Mark." she said, using his name rather than his formal title. "I'm ready."

Stepping toward her, Mark adjusted his scarf and glasses, and extended his hand.


	3. Shall we dance?

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT; the gods have still not accepted my offerings.

Summary: Tango. Need I say more?

Author's Notes: Sorry it took -so- long to update! Writing this inevitable chapter was a struggle…I know it's bad…so sue me. Plus I had finals, but now school is out and (hopefully?) I shall be writing more often. Thanks to my dearest friends, The Versatile Scarf who aided in the creation of a really horrible woman…an O/C called Madame Mauvaise (Which means Mrs. Wicked in French) and AngstyRebel who voted on the…ummm occupation… of Madame Mauvaise.

Warnings: Depictions of the human body as Mark and Joanne tango...Not at all exciting though...But the tension is there! That's what's important.

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Chapter 3: Shall we dance?

Joanne hesitated before placing her hand in Mark's. It was cold and soft, like a rose petal, and just as delicate. His long slender fingers wrapped gently around her hand, and he drew her into his side. Their legs entwined--_enganche_ right with left-- and he pulled her down for a dip. He drew her up positioning one hand on her hip, and the other grasping Joanne's hand. Joanne placed her free hand gently on Mark's shoulder, and they began to move across the floor.

_One two three, one two three, Reverse Start left forward ,Salida right foot pass left and back to side, right foot back ,Cruzada left crossover_. They moved in traditional style, Mark having found more confidence once he began to dance. _Resolution right foot back, left foot pass right foot to side and pivot to left on right foot, close. _Mark let go of Joanne's waist, in order to spin her and bring her to his front.

She stared into his eyes for a moment, noticing them for the first time. Beyond the dorky glasses, Mark had -incredible- eyes: Bright blue, like ice, and blazing with excitement. Mark, she could tell, was in his element. The way he held her with just the right amount of guidance and his perfect blend of elegant grace and fiery passion justified his confidence. He was a wonderful dancer. And for the first time Joanne forgot everything but Mark and the dance. She wasn't worried about the office or Maureen or her parents. She didn't know anything other than the passion and the beauty of the dance. As Mark led her across the floor she faded, and was no longer herself. She didn't know -who- she was, and she didn't care. All she knew was she had to keep dancing.

He spun her into his arms, then out, and then pulled her into his side. She extended her leg and he caught it, slowly sliding his hand down to her hip. Showing incredible strength for his small stature, he lifted her, pivoted, and placed her back on the floor. _Reverse Mordida. Abrazo. Arrastre. A grapevine Molinete. Close._

Joanne and Mark flowed in the ancient steps, using each other's bodies to embellish their steps. Mark dipped Joanne low, and raised her up quickly. Joanne suddenly realized the close proximity between Mark and herself. Ordinarily she would have pushed away…she never-- _never--_allowed herself to get that close to -anybody-…except Maureen. But she suddenly found she didn't mind. He smelled nice, even after dancing, Joanne noticed…like clean rainwater. Mark slid his hand down Joanne's left side from shoulder to thigh, caressing the curves of her body. Joanne felt herself blush, and she bit her lip to keep from giggling. She looked down, avoiding Mark's gaze, thought she didn't know why. She was a -lesbian-…Men did -not- impress her. Well…at least they never had before. Mark lifted her chin, bringing her face to face with him. Once again her cheeks turned scarlet, but this time she did not look away. She -couldn't- look away. His eyes were mesmerizing. "Joanne." Mark whispered. "Mark…I…I…" she stammered, being rendered speechless for the first time in her life.

"Excuse me Mr. Cohen?"

Joanne moved promptly away from Mark, startled. "Yes Chelsea?" he asked, coming out of his dance induced reverie, and readopting the persona of the shy, quiet cameraman Joanne knew. "Uh…sir…Well…Madame Mauvaise is here, and your running late with this client. Ten minutes late in fact and…you know how she doesn't like to be kept waiting…" Chelsea looked horrified, as though she'd been through hell in the past ten minutes. Mark's face fell, and he turned to Joanne, his face showing the sheer panic that came with the task awaiting him. "Well...I guess our hour is over. …Time flies when you're having fun…" he smiled awkwardly. "Please, come back for another appointment if you like. Chelsea will arrange one if that is your wish." _So…_she thought, _He's back to formalities. _Well…it had been more fun than she'd anticipated. "Sure Mark…"she smiled, "I'd like th..."

"MARKY!" a voice thick with a French accent bellowed from the royal blue door. Joanne turned and saw immediately why Mark and Chelsea had both looked terrified. An enormous woman had squeezed through the entrance to the tango studio. She was wearing a moth-eaten fur coat, a sequined red dress that was two sizes to small, Red stilettos which were also sequined and gave the appearance that they would soon buckle under the tremendous weight set upon them, a gigantic black hat with a red plume at least a foot high off of it, and what appeared to be all the jewelry the 99 cent store possessed. Her face was as round as a beach ball, and her body shape matched perfectly. Her hair was dark and stringy because of her attempts at curling it, and she wore more makeup than Bozo the Clown. But even with the pounds of powder and eyeliner she had caked on, you could see just how revolting she was. Her eyes were dark, pupils blending with Irises with no definition in between. She had a bushy unibrow that crawled across her forehead like a pet caterpillar, and adjacent to her shapeless, painted crimson lips was a plastic false mole. You could tell it was false, because the left edge was not properly applied (or perhaps it didn't stick to the makeup?) and you could see beneath it.

"MARKY!" she shouted, "WHY DO YOU KEEP YOUR POOR AGNES WAITING SO!" When she spoke her teeth became visible, and for a second reason (other than the fact that her voice was shrill, annoying, and loud) a wish for her to become mute presented itself. Her teeth (or what was left of them, because she was missing several) were yellow and chipped looking as though she'd gotten on the bad side of a baseball bat…more than once.

Madame Mauvaise marched up to Mark, her stilettos thundering on the floor. "Marky…you are late." she growled, "You know 'ow your Agnes is not liking to be waiting." "Of course, Madame" Mark explained, barely audible, "I was just finishing up with another client." Mark gestured to Joanne, "This is Joanne Jefferson." And to finish the introduction, "Joanne…this is Agnes Mauvaise, one of my …uh… most… regular clients. You see, Madame, Joanne is a first time client and you will recall that it always takes the longest in the first lesson. My apologies, Madame." Joanne stifled a snort and adopted a plastic smile. This was simply too much. "Oh Madame, I am certain Mark meant no trouble. It was my entirely my fault that Mark was late. I do hope you'll accept my -sincere- apology." "Accept apology from you? Ha! Do not make Agnes laugh! You made Agnes to be waiting, and now she is upset. Agnes is -not- liking to be upset." the massive woman snarled. Joanne heard Mark whimper a sound that sounded like a mouse being trodden upon. Joanne met Mark's eyes with hers. His gaze was pleading. _Leave now_, it seemed to be saying_, Allow me to suffer this embarrassment on my own. Please, I don't want you to see me like this. _ "I'll…just be leaving then." Joanne smiled at Mark. "See you soon…Instructor" she smirked and walked through the royal blue door.

She looked over at Chelsea as she exited the salon, and they both burst into giggles. This was going to be a good day.

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Mark shuddered as Mauvaise neared him. Three seconds ago he had wanted Joanne to leave. He didn't want her to see him cowering in the shadow of the French woman's bulk. But now he realized he'd do anything to have her back in the salon, so he wouldn't be alone with…that thing.

"Marky," she purred batting her clumped false eyelashes, " Now Agnes is having you all to herself. Now because you were 'orribly rude to Agnes and kept her waiting, she wants an extra 'alf 'our."

"But…But Madame," he stuttered as he glanced at his watch, "I'm only fifteen minutes late." It would be fair to stay an extra fifteen minutes, as much as he didn't want to…but an extra half hour?

"Non, non, non, Marky, you misunderstand Agnes. She means that her normal 'our starts now, and she gets an extra 'alf 'our in addition. Don't worry, Marky, she'll pay. She knows you need the money for Roger." She grinned maliciously, "AZT is getting more expensive everyday, non?"

Wait…how did she know about Roger? Mark panicked. Was she…-stalking- him? He must've mentioned Roger, there was no way she could be stalking him…was there? Wouldn't he have noticed if a woman as massive as that had been trailing him?

"Agnes sees your concern Marky. maybe she should explain." _That's a relief_, Mark thought_, I must've said something, or maybe Chelsea had let it drop_.

"She knows that Roger is your best friend, and that he has AIDS. You see Marky, Agnes has many connections and can gain access to anything she desires." she moved toward him, nearly drowning him in the scent of her nauseating overpowering perfume.

So she -was- stalking him. Disturbing. But he needed the money, badly. It was all up to him.

"I have what you need, Marky." she batted her eyelashes, "How can you resist?"

--------End Chapter 3--------

Okay, so a little note to end with. I am being horrible to poor Mark, aren't I? Well hopefully I can remedy that as the plot progresses. Mauvaise, as awful as she is, does serve a purpose.

I am having a little trouble deciding exactly how far I want to take this once it becomes Mark/Joanne…any thoughts on how…deep…their relationship should go?


	4. Acceptance with failing

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT; but I have bought some more incense to keep trying. The gods like perseverance, right?

Summary: Two months later. Joanne has continued to schedule regular appointments with Mark at Ambiguous. She has used the tango studio as a release from pressure, and she and Mark have become good friends. She looks forward to the weekly appointments, though she has yet to tell Maureen about them, simply saying she has a meeting to attend every week…which is the truth…just not all of the truth. Joanne reflects on how Mark has helped her. Joanne finds a surprise at home.

Ships: MoJo references…will be MarkJoanne soon…I promise!

Author's Notes: Okay…so…I was having a bit of trouble deciding which direction to take with this chapter…but that's not out of the ordinary. Heartfelt thanks go out to The Versatile Scarf who helped me figure out what I needed to do to continue the story…it would've died without her help! A short chapter used for a set-up of the next chapter.

Warnings: Maureen and one of her notorious exploits…yes it's sexual.

Chapter 4: Acceptance with failing.

Joanne walked home, feeling extraordinarily good. Her day at work had been wonderful, she's won three cases, and her new intern had won a fourth. Ever since she began to take lessons at the Ambiguous things had begun looking up. Work, she found, had become easier to deal with, now that she had a mid-week stress reliever. She no longer came home tense, and she and Maureen were arguing less. Joanne finally figured out what caused all the strain between them…she was jealous. She was jealous that Maureen could do something that didn't include her. Jealous that Maureen could enjoy herself without her. So Joanne coped by overreacting to every little detail. It used to be Maureen would come home 10 minutes late and Joanne would accuse her of being out flirting with no evidence to back it up. Lately Maureen had been coming home late, but that was because she had gotten a role in a small production. And for once Joanne wasn't nervous, she was happy for her. Joanne had her own escape now.

Joanne thought back to her last meeting with Mark. When they danced, her world had faded, and she felt like she was floating. She had never felt that way. Mark had become her closest friend. He took away all the worry that she amassed during the week. With Mark, she always felt as though she had accomplished something. He made her feel important, needed. It was the best she'd felt all year…and it was all thanks to Mark.

She would have never dreamed that she and the scrawny filmmaker would get along so well. At first it had there had been tension, they danced awkwardly trying to forget that Mark was Maureen's ex who got dumped for Joanne. _Not exactly information good friendships are usually built on,_ Joanne mused. The relationship continued on icy foundations until the fourth visit.

--Flashback-- (Fourth Visit)

"_Joanne…you might want to be careful today…I just waxed the floor." Mark looked at the floor beaming. "It took me two hours," he sighed, "but I finally finished." _

_Joanne watched him, surprised at the pride she felt in him… she shook herself. This was Mark…-Mark-. He was the pathetic little cameraman who she was jealous of. Well…not really -jealous of…it was more of a…an…uh…okay. She was jealous. Finally admitting it made Joanne face the harsh reality; she, Joanne Jefferson, was jealous…of Mark. This didn't ease her nerves any, and as they were dancing Joanne took a more-aggressive-than-needed step and wound up on her back. Mark looked down on her and laughed out loud. "Oh yeah, Mark? Think this is -funny?" she seethed. "Yes, actually." Mark snickered._

_What happened next was something Joanne hadn't even expected. She seized Mark's arm and pulled him down with her. "There how's that?" she giggled. The met each other's eyes and burst out laughing._

-- End Flashback--

They had been friends ever since. They shared secrets, told stories, and bonded during their appointments. Mark, she had realized, actually had quite the charming personality, when he didn't have his camera fused to his face.

Joanne had often speculated on why this day was different than the others; why, this day had broken the ice. _Because,_ Joanne thought, _I laughed at myself. I gave myself permission not to be perfect._

Joanne had finally found in Mark what she had needed all along: Consent to be flawed; Acceptance even with failing.

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Joanne heard Maureen giggling inside the apartment that they shared. Joanne smiled. She loved when Maureen laughed. Joanne turned the key in the door and opened it.

"OH MY GAWD, YES!" she heard Maureen scream from the bedroom--their bedroom.

Joanne made her way to the bedroom, afraid of what she knew she would find.

"You like that, huh? Tell me what you want." a deep raw male voice growled.

"YES! Oh, Gawd. DANIEL!' Maureen shrieked.

Joanne inaudibly pushed open the door, watching her lover tangled in a very compromising position with a stranger. "Maureen," she whispered, "how could you?" "Pookie, you're home early," Maureen said. "Pookie, wait! I can explain!" Please…"

Tears streamed down Joanne's chestnut face, and she turned and left the apartment, not knowing where her feet were going.


	5. Agnes the Dreadful

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT; persistence is apparently often confused with obsession.

Summary: Okay, so Maureen cheated on Joanne, and Mark is threatened by the horrible terror that is Madame Mauvaise. Joanne shows friendship to Mark….yes -_friendship_-…they're not together quite yet, folks.

Ships: MoJo references and MarkRoger_friendship_ (NOT RELATIONSHIP…Mark is Joanne's! giggles mischievously. Well, at least in -this- story.)

Author's Notes: Many thanks TheVersatileScarf who continues to remain my muse, even when all mine have left me. She owns half of my ideas…the good half of them! And a lot of Mark's quotes in here are hers… (I tried to change most of them…like paraphrase…but she just has -such- a way with words; it was really hard…) because this chapter was inspired by one of our RPG's. Thanks to her for being my…what is it? "Role-play-slave-monkey"?

I'd also like to take this time to do a little story whoring. "Visits to You" by TheVersatileScarf is -amazing-. Go read and review. It's worth it. I promise. Get her brilliance in full effect!

Warnings: The horror that is Mauvaise…you have been warned…Proceed at your own risk!

Chapter 5: Agnes the Dreadful

Joanne walked the streets of New York, not watching where she was going. Hell, she didn't know where she was going. The cold air stung her face, as tears silently rolled down her cheeks. _How could she? How, when things have been better than ever lately? Were you fooling yourself, Joanne? How could you have been so blind?_ Due to lack of attention, Joanne suddenly collided with an enormous bundle of squishy fur.

"Excuse you! 'Ow dare you! Watch where you are going!"

Joanne looked up and saw the horror that is Madame Mauvaise. "I'm sorry, Madame." Joanne said. She had not been expecting that.

"Oh…it is you." Madame huffed angrily. "I did not get a chance the other day to warn you."

"Warn me Madame?" Joanne said. She was not in the mood for this.

"Yes, warn you." Mauvaise growled. "You stay away from -my- Marky! I do not 'ave many men. 'e is the only one. 'e is -mine-. Do you understand? -MINE-! Do not try any of your tricks with 'im. Mark knows 'is place is with Agnes, and -only- with Agnes. Agnes has made sure 'e knows it." She smiled wickedly. "And know Agnes 'as made sure you know too. Do not touch -my- Marky." and with that she stormed off, stiletto heels pounding the concrete.

_What the hell?_ Joanne thought "_-Her- Marky"? Wow…a bit jealous? Poor Mark._

Bumping into Mauvaise had brought Joanne to her senses, though. She realized that without even meaning to, she had found herself outside of the Ambiguous. _Mark_, she thought desperately. _Mark will help me through this. The dance will help me through this. I -can- get through this._

She went inside the tango studio, to the now familiar reception area, where the blond secretary had fallen asleep on her desk.

"Chelsea. Chelsea! Wake-up? Is Mark busy?" Joanne asked urgently.

Mmmm…what? Sorry Joanne." she rubbed her eyes "…slow day." she explained.

"Chelsea, is Mark busy? I have to see him right away."

Chelsea looked at her schedule. "Well…he doesn't have any appointments right now…he just finished one. So…I guess he's free. Go on in." Ordinarily, Chelsea wouldn't have let anyone in, but she was half-asleep and she figured Joanne was safe.

"Instructor?" She buzzed on the intercom, "I'm letting Joanne in."

Joanne walked into the studio, surprised at what she found.

---Earlier that day---

"Marky!" Madame Mauvaise boomed, grabbing the defenseless blonde into a hug as massive as she is, and not so subtly smashing his face into her chest. "Marky, how've missed you so!"

"Mph! Mhhhpphh!" Mark mumbled, trying to get words out before his oxygen supply depleted, but only managing to make a few unintelligible noises.

"MARKY! Agnes 'as missed you so! Once a week is not long enouff. Perhaps I shall increase my appointments." Mauvaise squealed.

"Mpphhhppppmmmm!" Mark argued incomprehensibly.

"What Marky?" she smiled sweetly. "Agnes cannot 'ear you. Oh well...some tings seemply do not 'ave to be spoken. Some tings are seemply beeyond words." She pulled him away from her chest, but in doing so lifted him off the ground.

"Marky! Wouldn't extra lessons, be seemply wonderful? You could teach Agnes so many more things."

"Yes, yes Madame!" He was still breathing rather harshly. "That would be wonderful, but I'm afraid that I just don't have the space in my schedule." He reached up, and pulled his glasses out of the indents on his face made by the force with which Madame had lovingly collided his face with her bosoms.

"No space is your schedule? Well...surely you can arrange it for your favorite client?" She smiled again, this time, more of a grimace. "Surely...no one else could possibly as important as Agnes?" she said threateningly, hoping to make him submit.

He just wanted the use of his -legs- again. Running. Running seemed like a good idea at the moment, and she certainly couldn't keep up. -Right-? That smile, that horrible, awful smile... He felt his shoulders hunch up around his neck as his head lowered, fear evident. "O-Of course, Madame." He swallowed, -hard-. This was going to be the biggest mistake of his life. "There's nobody as important as you are, certainly not... I..." He heaved a sigh through his now trembling smile. "I'll find a way to make room."

"Good, Marky! Agnes knew you would think so too." She leered at Mark dangerously. "Agnes knows how you can make some room, Marky. Get rid of that awful woman -- The one who wears the suits, and flirts with you. Surely -she- is not as important as Agnes."

Almost immediately he imagined a week without his lesson with Joanne... and found he couldn't. He couldn't imagine not smiling as she walked in through the blue door of his studio, either happy or stressed, which could be released through the dance. .. -Flirts-? He had to almost laugh, but restrained himself. And if he let on just how much he looked forward to her appointments... "... She, like you, is a paying customer, Madame. I cannot just 'drop' her."

"Agnes does not approve of her, Marky." she sighed. "Agnes will pay you triple what she pays. Unless, you enjoy these visits with her...but of course, you enjoy Agnes's company more?"

He felt lost; hopeless. How was he supposed to navigate around -this- dilemma? Usually he could appease her with a word or two, but... Not this time. -Triple- what she was paying... No. Joanne's visits were what he looked forward to. He could not deny himself that just because this -woman- was paying him more. For once he thought of himself. "Now Agnes, I have many other spaces open... and of -course- I enjoy your company more." Lies. "But I do not want to sully my reputation and have people think that I just drop clients like that…"

"But, Marky," she purred (though it came out as more of a growl) "Agnes does not like sharing her attentions with that woman. Agnes -knows- when women are flirting Marky...She can always tell. She is flirting with you, and you are -HERS!-" Agnes had finally exploded, allowing the sticky sweet façade to fall down, and showing her true intentions. "Mark, do not forget that Agnes already pays double the regular rate. Without Agnes's generous contributions, this tango studio would be nothing! -You- would be nothing!" Without Agnes there is no tango studio. With no tango studio there is no AZT. With no AZT, Roger -dies-. -You- die. Do you want to die Marky?" she spat. "Do you want Roger to die?"

Flirting with him? Wouldn't it be a surprise to her to find out that Joanne was a self-proclaimed lesbian? Idly, he wondered how that news would go over and considered telling her... but froze. -Hers-? He... He belonged to no one but himself! What was this -bullshit-? She sounded like a child! Almost immediately he slipped into utter professionalism. "Madame Mauvaise, keep in mind that I do not have to keep you on as a client, and your behavior is unacceptable." ... but... she was right. She was necessary for the survival of the studio, and in turn, his survival and Roger's survival. "No..." He breathed, averting his gaze and hanging his head. He could no longer pretend to stand up to her, not when she gave him those sort of threats. He felt a slight trembling in his legs. Fear? Anger? Exhaustion? Whatever it was, he had to get through it if he wanted to keep on her... -good- side. If she had one.

"Good, Mark. Agnes knew you would see it her way. Agnes thinks we should leave it here for today...Agnes no longer feels like dancing. Agnes will call you later this week to schedule the rest of my appointments." she smirked knowing that she would get what she wanted. "Get rid of...Get rid of...that woman." she said names failing her. "Or else." And with that she turned on her heel (how she did with bulk as massive as hers will forever be a mystery.) and left the tango studio.

Oh... Oh God, she was leaving. There was no word for the utter -relief- he felt at that point in time. She was leaving. "Yes, Madame." He murmured, watching her with wide eyes that seemed almost on the brink of tears. He wouldn't, of course. Mark didn't cry. He merely detached. And so, as she left, he took a step back, and another, and another, until he was situated in one corner of the room, his image reflected on the two walls opposing his corner. The trembling continued, and he found his legs could no longer hold him. Down, down he slid, knees pulled up to his chest, arms around them. How could he allow her..? But... then again... how could he not? "She knows... she -knows-." He mumbled under his breath, before burying his head into his knees. -Shit-.

-----Present time-----

"Mark? Mark!" Joanne called her tone desperate and urgent. She -needed- Mark. She needed to -dance-. Then she saw him trembling in the corner. _What the hell?_ Joanne thought...then it dawned on her. -Mauvaise-. She walked over to the blond and slid down beside him. "Mark?" she whispered softly, "you okay?"

Lifting his head, he stared almost vacantly at her, not focusing. "She knows. That... that -thing- knows."

"Mark! Mark? Earth to mark?" Joanne was trying to get him to focus. Fucking Mauvaise...she was no big deal to Joanne, but she had obviously traumatized Mark. "Mark, what did she say to you?" If it had been anything like the speech that horrible thing had given her a couple of minutes ago, she could see why Mark was so terrified. He wasn't very good at standing up for himself. If Joanne coming her made this happen…well…she'd never be able to forgive herself. She had to make it right. She had to make sure Mark was okay.

His eyebrows knit together as he attempted to focus on her, blue eyes wandering...

-There-. He blinked rapidly at the lawyer before him, having caught her within his gaze and locked her there. "She... she told... Roger's AZT, then I'd...flirting…" He couldn't manage anymore.

"Mark..." Joanne grinned knowing exactly what Mark needed...and yes...what she needed too. What they -both- needed. "Do you want to go get a drink?"

"-Please-."

"Let's go, I know just the spot. Need help up?" Joanne smiled and offered her hand, happy to be helping Mark, rather than the other way around. It was good to be needed.

He reached out and took the hand offered to him, wrapping shaky fingers around her own and pulling himself to his feet with her help. "T... Thanks."

"No problem Mark...It's five blocks...think you can walk? Or shall we catch a cab?" Joanne steadied him as he stood up clutching her hand. Mark needed more help than she did. She was going to help mark, and have fun tonight...Maureen or no Maureen.

"No, no... I can walk." He licked his lips, finally detaching himself from her after steadying himself enough "L... Let's go. I don't have any more appointments..."

--------------

**A/N: **Okay, so I had to be horrid to Mark again, but I told you Mauvaise would propel the plotline! So they exit to a bar...to go get drunk! Next chapter should be fun.

In case you missed it, Joanne's confrontation with Mauvaise is right after she leaves Mark's tango studio. This is of course, after Mark has been abused. :(

Oh! And in case you forgot…go check out "Visits to You" by TheVersatileScarf. It's worth the read…promise!


	6. Mo' Tequila!

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT; the gods said something about already granting that to Jonathon Larson…

Summary: Okay Joanne gets drunk with Mark, who has his own reasons for being drunk (remember Mauvaise?). Pure straight drunken humor.

Ships: A definite pick up in the MarkJoanne plotline of the story.

Warnings: References to homosexuality; Alcohol. Mark and Joanne in the same bed…draw your own conclusions…

Author's Notes: Many thanks to AngstyRebel who helped inspire this chapter and helped me with describing the bar atmosphere...I was at a loss! Hooray for her fixing it! Thanks also to The Versatile Scarf who continues to remain my muse. Yay late nights in the Laundromat! Oh…and Italics are thoughts…'cause I don't bluntly like to say 'Joanne thought…' 'Mark thought…' all the time.

You're wonderful. Reviews are, as always, appreciated!

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Chapter 6: "Mo' Tequila!"

Joanne led Mark through the door of the pub. It was a regular social spot for young professionals and college kids alike. Couches were grouped around creating several conversation circles, others sat having a small meal at the scrubbed wooden tables, a few couples were having a go on the dance floor, an upbeat tune playing from the speakers and retro jukebox. Joanne felt comforted by the muted amber light, and sighed heavily. . She motioned for Mark to follow her as she moved toward the bar. He was no longer shaking, but he didn't appear too comfortable. It was obvious that he didn't go to bars very often. They pulled out the polished wooden stools from the bar, on the far left, and sat down. Joanne greeted the bartender.

"Hey, Kelsey, how've ya been? How's business?"

"Hey, Jo. Eh, I'm alive." she chuckled. "Business is good, but would be better if we could ever find a decent performer to play here. Do you know how hard it is to find talent? You'd think that, this being New York City and all, I'd be able to find -someone-, but nothing doing. But who knows? I got an interview tonight with some guy by the name of Reggie Denis or something like that. Maybe with a little bit of luck…" she laughed heartily. "So who's this? New boyfriend?"

Joanne and Mark blushed simultaneously. Mark mumbled something incoherent. "No," Joanne explained, "this is my friend, Mark. We've both had a rather rough day…We came for a little pick-me-up."

"Say no more. For a good friend like you, Jo, anything you want. What can I get you two?"

"Something strong, anything strong. Surprise me." Joanne answered.

"And for you, Mark?" Kelsey asked.

"Uhhh….I ummm… I'm not much of a drinker…" he muttered. "Maybe…something not so strong?"

"Sure Mark," Kelsey laughed. "What do you like?"

"Ummm…I like strawberries…" he said as he shifted uncomfortably on his stool.

"I know just the thing then." Kelsey nodded knowledgably. "Give me a sec, and I'll fix you guys up. She winked, and disappeared behind the bar.

A few minutes later the bartender reappeared holding a glass filled with an amber liquid, and an enormous margarita glass filled with a bright pink slushie and whipped cream on top, complete with tropical umbrella. Mark, on instinct, reached out for the glass filled with the amber liquid.

"No, Mark. That's Joanne's." Kelsey giggled. "This one is yours." As she handed Mark the glass with the hot pink liquid, he flushed a bright red. "A Strawberry Daiquiri, not too strong. More juice and ice than liquor."

Joanne laughed heartily, before taking a drink. She gagged, spluttering as the alcohol burned her throat.

"Christ, Kelsey! What the hell is in this?" Joanne choked.

She smirked. "85 Vodka 13 citrus and 2 ice."

Joanne drank again, this time more carefully. "This is good, Kels."

"Thought you'd like it." she smiled. A customer flagged her down on the other end of the bar. "I'm coming!" she hollered. "Have fun kids." and with a wink she was gone, fixing people drinks, laughing, and speaking words of wisdom only bartenders can provide.

"Joanne?" Mark blushed again, feeling slightly ridiculous. "I just wanted to…to say Thank you."

"For what Mark?" Joanne asked.

"You know…" he said fidgeting, "for bringing me here. For…caring. I'm not used to being the one to be taken care of…I'm usually on the opposite end. I just…I appreciate it." he smiled.

"No worries, Mark." she grinned back. "Anytime. I gotta use the ladies' room. Be back in a minute…try not to get into too much trouble." and with that she left to the back of the bar.

Mark, being deprived of someone to talk to, downed the rest of his daiquiri. _This is actually pretty good_, he thought. He ordered another, and quickly drank that one too. Mark had never been able to hold his alcohol well, and by the third daiquiri he was tipsy.

_I wonder what's keeping Joanne,_ he wondered. _Hmph, Women. Probably doing her make-up or something._

A cute blonde boy wandered over to the bar and took Joanne's now unoccupied seat. Mark was not in the best state of mind, but even if he had been he wouldn't have asked the boy to leave…he hated confrontation. He was dressed as though he belonged to a boy-band. He wore tight blue jeans, (so tight, in fact, Mark began to wonder how he got -into- them), a white t-shirt and a snug fitting blue leather jacket. His blonde hair fell perfectly without being gelled, and his smile put fresh fallen snow to shame.

"Hey there," the boy started holding a hand out, "What's your name?"

"I'm Mark." he replied, focusing all his effort into grabbling the boy's hand. _Hand to hand…slightly left…or is that right?_

The boy giggled. "Mine is Tyler, but most of my friends call me Ty. Are you new here? I've never seen you before…"

"Yep. This is my first time." Mark blushed. "Coming to this place, I mean."

"Of course. So, Mark was it?" Mark nodded to affirm his name. "What do you do Mark?"

"I'm a filmmaker."

"Oooh, how interesting."

"It is." he answered proudly. "It's the best job in the world."

"Sounds fun." he smiled dazzlingly. Noticing Mark had finished his drink, he asked "Would you like another drink Mark?"

"Yes, please." Mark said, the alcohol beginning to impair his judgment. Tyler ordered another Daiquiri for Mark and a Piña Colada for himself.

"So…Mark…tell me about yourself." Tyler said flirtatiously.

Mark, missing the suggestion, began. "Well…I already told you I'm a filmmaker. I live in the East Village with my roommate Roger who plays guitar."

"Oh." Tyler said rather disappointed. "He's your boyfriend?"

Mark giggled. "No. Roger and I are just friends."

"Oh, ok. Tyler said, now much happier.

"Well…there's not really much else to say…" Mark stammered. "What about you?" _Anything to keep the topic off of me_, Mark thought_. Anything not to talk about Maureen, or AZT, or…Mauvaise. I need more alcohol._

"Well," Tyler began, "I'm an actor here in New York, in a little off-Broadway show. I work part-time at a diner. I moved here from San Francisco, about a year ago. I'm single. That's about all." his green eyes sparkled.

"Thass... -that's- nice." Mark said slurring his words slightly. _Where the hell was Joanne?_ Mark shifted uncomfortably, not liking to talk with strangers. He finished yet -another- daiquiri. Talking, however, seemed to be the least of his problems. Tyler would -not- stop touching him! True, Mark had not asked him to stop…but he figured anyone could tell at this point; it was -obvious-. It wasn't groping, or anything…just little touches. A hand on Mark's arm, a flick of Mark's hair_. But he smiles nice. And he seems okay. It's not like he's flirting with me or anything…_

"So how about you? Any…love interests? Surely a guy as attractive as you has a girlfriend or boyfriend somewhere…by the way, excuse me if this is too personal, but what -is- your orientation?" Ty asked boldly. _Oh my gosh, _Mark thought finally seeing the obvious,_ he -is- flirting with me!_

"He's straight." Joanne said. The boys looked up behind them, and saw a very peeved Joanne. "Now if you could stop flirting with my boyfriend, I'd very much appreciate it."

"You're…he….girlfriend…what?" stammered Tyler.

"That's right pretty boy. Mark is straight. I'm his girlfriend. Understand? Or should I use smaller words to get through your hair product?" _Oh gosh, Mark…how did you get yourself into -this-? Stare, intimidate. Lie, when necessary, to prove the greater point. Save Mark at all costs. This is what I do, I'm a lawyer._

"Marky, why didn't you tell him to leave you alone?" Joanne purred._ Acting. This is merely acting, _she reminded herself "I know you don't like confrontation, honey, but to be hit on by a gay man? It's okay, sweetheart, I'll make it better…" and with that Joanne kissed him gently but with a passion that could not be denied. She was surprised when she found Mark kissing back, and she opened her mouth for his tongue to dance with hers. _Acting…_Mark put his hands on the small of Joanne's back and drew her closer to deepen the kiss, and Joanne surprised herself by wrapping her arms around Mark's neck.

"I guess…I'll be going now." Tyler said defeated, "Sorry, Mark." He walked away, stopping at a table where another boy sat alone.

Joanne pulled away from Mark, finding herself reluctant to end the kiss.

"Joanne…tha' was 'mazing." Mark slurred. "Tank you sooo mush."

"No worries, Mark. I had to get him off of you, somehow." Joanne finished the drink she had left behind, and ordered another. This vodka was damn good. "Sorry I was gone so long, I ran into one of my colleagues from work…"

"Iss no prob'em, Jo." Mark giggled.

_It was all acting…right? Then why do I want to kiss him again? Why did it feel so right in his arms? _Joanne stared into Mark's ice blue eyes, and blushed. _What the hell is wrong with me? I'm a -lesbian-. Get a hold of yourself, Jefferson! It's probably the alcohol_… But Joanne wasn't drunk yet, and she knew it. She was only slightly buzzed and unlike Mark, she'd only had one drink. _But…, _she argued internally_, Kelsey did make it strong…_

Joanne gulped down some more vodka, to calm her nerves. She -couldn't- be falling for Mark. There was no way. She watched people on the dance floor, attempting to avert her attention from the way the dim amber light complemented Mark's complexion perfectly. _Bloody hell. Maybe I'm just lonely._ _That -must- be it. I'm trying to replace Maureen, and Mark is -there-…that -has- to be why. _ Joanne felt better at this realization. Her brain was only playing tricks on her…that was why Mark had suddenly become attractive to her. It made sense, logically. Mark was a trusted friend. He was there for her when she needed him. It only made sense that she'd attach to the blonde cameraman for comfort. _But what if_? a voice in her head argued. _ What if you really have feelings for him? You've felt this way before…remember? The first time you ever danced with him. Every time you've ever danced with him. What if there's something more to this? _

Joanne drowned her conscience with more alcohol. Coming here was supposed to help her, not raise unwanted questions about her closest friend. She found herself drinking away uncertainty about Mark, rather than grief about Maureen. This was not what Joanne had anticipated.

--------Later: Alcohol count: 4 vodkas, 6 daiquiris --------

Intoxication had finally settled in on Joanne (it had claimed Mark a while ago). Joanne and Mark were having a conversation, though neither of them was making much sense.

"So I tol' Maureen, "I don't nee' you! I don' have to take this anymo'! And that's why I'm here wiv you." Joanne said before finishing another vodka. "'Cuz she cheated on me wiv 'Daniel' or somefing."

"Thass awful, Jo. Maureen used to chea' on me too." he nodded his head vehemently. "She did. An' thass why I'm all alooone."

"Kelsey! Kelseeeeeeey! Mo' tequila!"

"Joanne, you were drinking vodka."

"Thass wha' I said! Mo'! My girlfrien's name is Mo. Maybe if I bottled her up, she wouldn' sleep aroun'…"

"Jo…I think you've had quite enough for tonight. You and Mark are both drunk of your asses."

"'m not." Mark protested, before almost falling off of his stool.

"Mark! Joanne! What are you two doing here?" Roger inquired, coming around the corner, his face making his shock apparent.

"Roggger! Wha' are -you- doing here?" Mark asked, giggling.

"I'm here on a job interview…Mark what happened to you?"

"You know them?" Kelsey looked astounded.

"Yeah…he's my roommate. And…Joanne…well, how I know Joanne is a long story. What have these two had to drink? They look plastered."

"Well…Jo's been having Vodka. She's been a customer of mine for a long time, but I've never seen her like -this- before. And he-" she gestured to Mark "-has been having Strawberry Daiquiris."

"Mark, you got drunk off of daiquiris?" Roger asked perplexed.

"'m no' drunk." Mark replied groggily.

"Yes you are. Look, you two, I better get you out of here. Thanks for the interview Kelsey. I'll see you around?"

"Every Friday night. Oh…and look after these two…I think she might be able to walk…but I don't know about him. He seems awful wasted…"

"I'll take care of it. Thanks again." He turned back to Joanne and Mark who were now both in a furious fit of giggles.

"C'mon you two. Time to go home."

Mark tried to stand up…and toppled into Roger.

"Here, Mark" he said. "Just lean on me. Joanne can you walk?"

Joanne stood up, a little wobbly, but stable enough to stumble. She nodded.

"Then let's go." And with that Roger began to lead Mark and Joanne back to the loft.

----------

Once they reached the loft, Roger took Mark to his room, and laid him down on the bed, where he immediately fell asleep. He took off the small man's glasses, and turned to face Joanne…

"Ummm…you're not usually here…" he mumbled. "Just…just find some place to sleep." and with that Roger walked into his own bedroom, still stunned.

Too drunk to care anymore, Joanne climbed in bed with Mark. She snuggled into his chest, and fell asleep, breathing the scent of clean rainwater.

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**A/N:** Okay, so you guys have been asking to get Mark and Joanne together…and finally it seems I'm heading towards it. Yay! And in case you didn't notice, Roger Davis Reggie Denis…and he got the job performing at the bar. :)

A couple of Shout-outs!

Thanks to those who leave reviews and are following this story…I appreciate it -so- much. I didn't think anything would come of this story…it was a random muse and was supposed to be a one-shot…well…6 chapters later it's taken on a life of it's own, and I have you guys to thank for it.

This story would also not be continuing without AngstyRebel and The Versatile Scarf. They are my muses, and without them this story would have died in the second chapter.

"Visits to You" by TheVersatileScarf is -amazing-. Go read and review. It's worth it. I promise. It deserves so much more credit than it has received.

And "The People I Hated" by AngstyRebel--it's excellent. R&R, because this story is one of the best I've ever read--no bias included. If you like Angst…then you -need- to read this story.

Oh…and one more thing. Check out my RPG in the forums. "RENT RPG: The Parody" capitalizes on clichés and it should be a lot of fun…but we need a Collins, Benny, and Mimi to get things started.

Thanks…you guys are the best!


	7. Wake up call

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT; though I'd sell my soul for it…lol. Just kidding!

Summary: The Morning After--hangovers all around.

Ships: MarkJoanne, MarkRoger-_friendship-_

Warnings: LANGUAGE! Joanne has a bad mouth when she's hung over. (F-bomb is rampant)

Author's Notes: This chapter is an intermediary chapter, because I haven't figured out how I want to end this story. No, I do not plan my endings. I do not even plan anything beyond basic plot guidelines. As I write the stories, I'm always just as surprised as you are as the plot develops. As far as this story is concerned, I have just about a zillion ideas in my head of how this could turn out. So thank you for your patience. :)

Oh…and remember that because of the tango studio, the loft has more than Cap'n Crunch to eat. Because of the horrid Mauvaise, Mark and Roger survive. They have heat, food, and AZT money, but that doesn't mean they're wealthy…because if Mauvaise stopped paying for tango lessons…everything would slip out from under their feet. So please don't ask where the food they eat came from; Mark bought it…'Kay:)

This Chapter is dedicated to: They call me- mia, ListenNatalie, and C. Daneils for sticking with this story from the beginning! Thanks you're wonderful!

Also to Sargent Snarky, who gives just about the best reviews ever!

And as always to AngstyRebel and The Versatile Scarf for continuing to remain this story's lifeblood. Without you two, this story would be nothing! -NOTHING-!

Okay…enough with sentimentality, and on with the story!

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Chapter 7: Wake up call.

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"Mmmm…." Joanne groaned, practically suffocating in fabric. Her face was pressed into a chest. _What the hell? Where the fuck am I?_ She wondered. Noticing the absence of breasts, she knew she was not in bed with Maureen…

_Maureen…_

And then she remembered. _ Maureen…and Daniel…then the tango studio…Mauvaise… and Mark. Fuck! She was in bed with -Mark-! _

"Uhhh…." she moaned, trying to separate herself from him, but apparently during the night, the filmmaker's arms had found their way around her. So in addition to the dilemma of her impending hangover, she had to figure out how to get out of bed without disturbing him. Maybe if she left quietly, she could pretend that last night had never happened at all. She could forget the way his lips felt, she could overlook the depth of his eyes. She could get on with life, and forget that, if it wasn't for work and the awkwardness that would follow, she would like to stay right where she was, in Mark's arms.

She stared at the clock on what might be supposed as a nightstand next to Mark's bed. The red digital numbers glared at her angrily…11:30. _-SHIT-! _ She was an hour and a half late for work! The choice now was, lose her job, or leave Mark undisturbed. She chose the former, and made to dash to her cell phone.

_-Fuck-._ Oooh…her head! She silently made a note to kill Kelsey the next time she saw her. No more tequila for her…or was it vodka? It didn't matter. It disabled her from standing. She fell to the floor, and continued crawling toward her jacket, which had been discarded last night.

Amidst this entire calamity, Mark had awoken. He looked blearily at Joanne, before groaning and rushing to the bathroom.

"Hello? May I speak to Katie Pickett, please?" Joanne said the phone clutched in her hand, lying back down on the floor. _Oh fuck my head. _"Hold? Okay that's fine." the elevator music might as well been death metal as it blared in Joanne's already sensitive ears. She abandoned all hope of ever getting up again. _This floor is comfortable. I just want to fuse into it, and never get up…_

Just then Mark walked back into the room with a glass of water in his right hand, and shaking a bottle of aspirin in his left._ Oh there is a God!_ Joanne meekly sat up, and accepted the medicine from Mark, mumbling her thanks. She laid back down onto the floor, waiting to hear the torture music exchanged for her boss's voice.

She didn't want to go to work. _Well, _she asked herself_, why should I? I haven't missed a day of work in 5 years. Why can't I allow myself one sick day?_

"Hi, Katie. It's Joanne. Listen, I don't think I can make it in today. Uh-huh. I know. Something's come up, family emergency. You understand, of course. What kind of family emergency? Uh…my cousin's in the hospital. Very close. First cousin on my father's side. Derrick. Uh-huh. I'll work a double this weekend to make it up. You sure? I can you know…. Alright, if that's what you think is best. Thanks a bunch, Katie. 'Bye."

"Not working?" Mark asked groggily.

"Nuh-uh" Joanne groaned closing her eyes. Today was going to be a long day.

"That's good. I should probably call Chelsea…tell her I can't make it in. Though I don't think I'm quite as good at lying as you are." he chuckled weakly.

"Mark…you're the boss. You don't -have- to lie."

"…Oh yeah. Can I borrow your cell phone for a minute?"

"If you come get it." she murmured lazily.

Mark attempted to bend over and retrieve the cell phone, but he lost coordination and tumbled on the floor. He crawled next to Joanne and proceeded to pick up the cell phone.

"Chelsea…I'm not coming in today…cancel my appointments. Uh-huh? Mauvaise? Today?" he groaned. "What time? That soon?" Mark looked as though his world had just ended.

And then a light dawned on his face. "Don't worry, Chelsea. I'll take care of it." he hung up the phone, as a smug expression crept across his face.

"Roger!" he called, too loudly for Joanne's taste--her head still hurt.

An inhuman groan resonated throughout the loft.

"Roger? Can you come here for a sec?"

Roger, who had obviously been roused from his sleep, appeared in the doorway. "WhatdoyouwantMark?" he mumbled rubbing his calloused hand over his face, protesting the light.

"What are you doing today?" Mark asked innocently.

"Nothing…why?

"Can you do me a favor?"

"I really don't feel well…and I don't think that I can make it in to work today. But there's one client I can't refuse to see…"

"Yeah?" Roger yawned sleepily. "So what's your point Mark?"

"Well…I thought…maybe if you weren't doing anything…maybe you could…you know….take my place."

"Take your place, Mark? I can't take your place; I don't know how to tango."

"But I taught you how to tango!" Mark protested. "Remember? You -asked- me to teach you how to dance."

"Vaguely…" he eyed Mark suspiciously. "But that was like 5 years ago…and I don't remember any of it."

"Well…that's not a worry. Dancing is like…riding a bike. You never really forget how. C'mon, Rog! You'll remember when you're there! I'd do it for you." Mark whined. "The only reason I stay at that tango studio with this client, is so that you can have food and AZT. Please, Roger?"

Roger laughed inwardly. Mark looked hilarious when he tried to pout. _It might not be so bad. Help Mark out, ya know? Like he's always helping you. _ "I guess I could…just this once, right?"

"Yes. Thanks so much Roger. You need to be at the studio in a half an hour. The client is Madame Agnes Mauvaise, and though she probably won't take it very well, just tell her I'm too ill to make it in today, and that you're substituting on my request. Flatter her, get on her good side…she's the reason we have food to eat…so don't do anything…well…stupid. I can't afford to lose her as a client. Oh! And whatever you do, don't mention Joanne."

Roger, baffled at these complicated instructions, simply nodded his head trying to remember. It was too early for this. He turned to go to his room to get ready. "I can't believe I'm doing this." he sighed.

Mark stood up slowly, before offering a hand to Joanne. "You know, the bed is more comfortable than the floor…" he said jokingly.

She simply raised an eyebrow at him, before placing her hand in Mark's. She raised herself, sluggishly. She mumbled quiet thanks before crawling back into Mark's bed. Formality be damned, she was going to sleep. Mark crawled in next to her, and soon the pair was fast asleep once more.

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Joanne woke up alone in Mark's bed. She looked at the clock, the crimson letters blaring 2:00. She got up, no longer feeling the effects of a hangover. She privately ensured aspirin a deity's respect, and walked into the living area. _Mmmm…something smells good. _

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty." Mark joked, immediately blushing afterwards. Joanne felt her own face grow hot, and she attempted to laugh it off.

"Morning, Mark."

"You want something to eat?"

"Sure." Joanne sat down on the couch.

Mark came out of the kitchen and handed Joanne a plate, on which was a grilled cheese sandwich and potato chips, and a glass of milk. "Hope you don't mind," Mark said. "I'm not much of a cook. I can cook a little. Nostalgic childhood foods mostly." he nodded toward the grilled cheese.

Joanne was used to fine dining. She was an excellent cook of gourmet foods, and she went out to expensive restaurants. But nothing had ever tasted as good as the simplicity of that grilled cheese sandwich.

"It's perfect." Joanne said.

"So…I guess you'll be heading home soon…" Mark said, oddly sounding disappointed. "Mo will probably be wondering where you are…"

Joanne swallowed hard. "I guess." she said. She didn't want to face Maureen. Not after… last night. "I…I kind of don't want to see her right now." she mumbled. _Don't cry, Joanne. Do -not- cry. _

"Why? Joanne what's wrong? Did something happen?" Mark asked concerned.

"It's nothing…don't worry about it, Mark." Joanne murmured, holding back the tears that were now threatening to spill over.

"She cheated, didn't she?" Mark asked sullenly, a stone expression on his face.

Joanne nodded, tears streaming down her face. _So much for not crying_…

"You know, she really doesn't appreciate what she has." Mark said bitterly. "She'll just never realize how wonderful she has it. I mean, you're everything a person could ever ask for: beautiful, talented, intelligent…" Mark blushed. _Don't be stupid, she doesn't want you, _he thoughtHe felt ridiculous for having these feelings for his ex's lover. But as their tango lessons continued, Mark had developed more than platonic feelings for Joanne. He was not one to let his guard down easily; He hadn't dated since he and Maureen had broken up. But something about Joanne made him want to fall, even if he ended up getting hurt, which was more than likely with his luck. But even more important to him was that he didn't hurt her. She was just out of a relationship, and Mark didn't want to frighten her, or be too forward. So Mark kept his silence and confined himself to his thoughts. _ She doesn't need to know that every time you see her, you can't help but stare. She doesn't need to know that you find yourself longing to reach out and touch her. She doesn't need to know that you can't get her kiss out of your mind… _"Maureen is missing out…" he mumbled resentfully.

"No…it's my fault…how could I have been so blind? I thought that we were okay, but I missed the signs, because I was too wrapped up in myself. Maybe I deserved it… Everything I thought I knew, everything that was under control is crashing down around me." _You've turned _my_ world upside-down. _ "Even simple things. Like…I realized I'm not a lesbian, I'm bi." _because I'm falling for you. _ "Maybe this happened to me, because I'm not being devoted enough to Maureen." _How could I be so dumb? I can't allow myself to be in love with you…I can't forget everything I'm supposed to know. _"I brought it on myself," _You make me want to forget… "_By being distracted by…"_you. Mark, I'm afraid that I love you. _ "…someone else." Joanne said between sobs. "Oh God, I am such an idiot…"_How could I be stupid enough to love you?_

"No, you're not." Mark sat down next to Joanne, wrapping his arms around her, comforting her. "You're not. Shhh…Jo. It's okay. It's not your fault."

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Mark. I don't know what I'm going to say to her…I don't know where I'm going to stay…I can't be in that apartment. Not knowing what happened there…I'll have to rent a room in a hotel or something. I can't face her, Mark. I can't."

"I know, Joanne. It's alright. You can stay here for a while, if you want to. Until you figure out what you're going to do." Mark smiled. "It's not much, but you're welcome to whatever we have."

"Okay. Then, I'm going to go by the apartment and pick up a few things." she stood up.

"Oh and Mark?" She kissed his cheek, "Thanks." She exited the loft, leaving Mark alone with his confusion.

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A/N: Okay, so -that- was an adventure. Wow. So Roger is meeting the now infamous Mauvaise, and Mark and Joanne like each other, but are too afraid to say anything...aw, cute! Ummm…I still haven't decided how exactly I want this to end…so thanks for bearing with me! And a guest appearance in my next chapter to the first person to find a reference to another fan fiction in here! No I will not tell you which one. That's for you to guess. XD (AngstyRebel and The Versatile Scarf are barred from answering...but you are already in it anyway!) You guys are wonderful.


	8. MoreVase?

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT; it's all Jonathon Larson's! I just play with the characters.

Summary: Roger tangos with Mauvaise….

Ships: None! A little break from romance! A flirtatious Roger though…

Warnings:

Author's Notes: A deviation from the plot I still have not created! Still haven't figured out what the hell I'm going to do with this story. So I continue to blather on and on without a purpose…thanks for your patience.

Oh…and Mimi's dead…'cause I figure she would be by now. (It's April of the following year, after they found her on Xmas eve. Oh Irony! How I love thee!) And I don't like her very much. I apologize in advance to all of those MimixRoger shippers and Mimi fans in general…but I just…I don't like her. So she's dead. -Please- don't hate me.

This Chapter is dedicated to: Sargent Snarky, who correctly identified the reference to "Project: Tango Roger" by The Versatile Scarf. Haven't read it? Go check it out! And while you're on The Versatile Scarf's homepage…check out "Visits to You". It's incredible. Oh and FYI, Snarky is Clara in this chapter. Just so you know where she's appearing! I like this contest thing…maybe I'll add another soon.

And as always to AngstyRebel and The Versatile Scarf for being the wonderful people they are. AngstyRebel RPed this chapter with me so I'd have some material to write with (You can thank her for Roger's bits, I can't write Roger to save my life! So reward her by going and reviewing her story "The People I Hated.") And the Versatile Scarf who analyzes, scrutinizes, and makes sense of all my hopeless babble.

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Chapter 8: "MoreVase?"

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Roger stepped out of the loft, the cold New York air biting his face. He hated April. Tucking his leather jacket a bit closer, he walked down the streets, humming Musetta's Waltz, blissfully unaware of the horror in store for him. He was disgruntled that he had been woken up before two o' clock. Mark -owed- him. Not only did he bring his sorry ass back from the bar last night after getting drunk (off of -daiquiris-, no less), but now he was going to do his work for him. Roger Davis! Doing work! Protect the women and children, the apocalypse has arrived! "This had better be damn important." he grumbled to no one in particular. But in the end reason (and perhaps his stomach) had won, and here he was on the way to the tango studio. If he had to dance and make a fool of himself to eat, then so be it! And besides he was sure he was overreacting. After all, Mark had said that this woman was the reason he ate and had AZT. If the client helped them get their daily necessities, Roger reasoned, she couldn't be that bad.

A chime sounded as Roger hustled into the studio. Warming his hands with his breath, he unwrapped his scarf, hanging it and his jacket on a coat rack. Glancing around Roger noticed the blonde sitting at the reception desk. She looked familiar. Searching his memory, he came up with a name. _Chelsea_. That was right. Mark introduced his new receptionist to him at a Christmas party the group had had last December. With a wince the inebriated state he had been in at the time came to mind. Well, the client MoFace or whoever the hell she was wasn't due for another couple of minutes-- Might as well set thing rights with the pretty secretary.

"Hi" he said reaching out a hand attempting at something cordial "I'm Roger."

Chelsea looked up, making direct eye contact. She giggled and blushed, taking his offered hand.

"Hi. Chelsea." she replied. "Weren't you at the Christmas party last year?"

"Umm, yeah" Roger muttered, his neck going red. "I mean, I wasn't all there, but I was there, umm, physically, just if not...ummm, yeah." _Great Davis, just fall apart why don't you. It's not like you like her. The people you like always seem to wind up-_Forcibly taking his train of thoughts away from that dark subject; Roger attempted to strike up a conversation. "So, have you been working here long?"

"Since it's been open." she smiled. "So...what about you? What has Mr.Rockstar been up to?"

Roger looked about for a chair. Finding a complete lack of furniture in close proximity, he hopped up, perching himself atop Chelsea's desk, his legs dangling limply. He hid a smug smile knowing he would have chosen this seat even if there had been chairs present. "Well," he told her, wracking his brain for something witty to say "I've been bumming around the loft, writing crappy songs and performing them at night in local joints that are in desperate need of entertainment. But this, I can assure you, is far more fun than anything I've done in oh...say the past week and a half." Roger finished in a solemn voice, an earnest expression lighting his face. _'Mr. Negative' my ass_ he thought smugly, _I'm fricken hilarious._

She giggled appreciatively. "Oh, well then...I'm honored. I'm sure your songs aren't that bad, to where you would choose me over them. I'm really not that interesting. My life is kinda dull. But today..." her eyes flashed. "Today is an exception."

Roger sighed. "That's too bad," he told her "but I'm glad something good can come of Mark's complete intoxication." _Off daiquiris_, Roger snorted silently, once again laughing at Mark's pain.

"Oh is -that- why he couldn't come in?" she laughed. "Well...he didn't send you all the way over here to tell me that. He called me this morning. Why are you here, gorgeous?"

"Mark didn't tell you?" Roger questioned, his eyebrows creasing. "He sent me down here to take care of one of his appointment, ummm MoreVase?"

"Mauvaise! Agnes Mauvaise! "She opened her mouth wide in shock. "Oh...wow. Are you ever in for it. Why would you volunteer for something like -that-? "Then, she thought for a moment. Mark -hated- confrontation...maybe he didn't tell Roger about Agnes the Dreadful. "Uhhh...how much did Mark tell you about her anyways?"

"Not much," Roger shrugged, puzzled and made a little nervous by her reaction "she pays for our food. An hour with her can't be that bad."

"An hour! Oh...Roger..." she shifted uncomfortably. "Mark really should've told you...I don't know quite how to say this...Agnes is...What I mean is, Madame Mauvaise..." she bit her lip, trying to find the right words. "Uhhh...well. She's horrible." she said finally.

"Horrible?" Roger laughed. "I'm sure I can handle it. But thanks for the heads up."

"No, no, no. Roger you don't understand. No one can handle her. Mark broke down last night, because he had a lesson with her. Joanne kind of came in and helped pick up the pieces but..." she frowned. "Roger, don't be too cocky." she warned. "You have no idea what you're in--" she was interrupted as the door to the tango studio burst open loudly, and a voice thick with a French accent bellowed dramatically.. "I 'ave arrived!"

An odd, wounded squawk escaped Roger's mouth as he promptly fell off the desk in horror. He knew it was the cold wind blowing in from out side, but the woman seemed to have brought a chill to the studio. Working furiously not to vomit, Roger whispered in a strangled voice to Chelsea. "That's her?" he asked his voice cracking.

Chelsea simply nodded...Nothing needed to be said. Nothing -could- be said of Agnes "the Horror" Mauvaise. She quickly grasped the back of Roger's shirt, to calm her nerves.

She stormed into the room, face red, from both the cold New York wind, and the mass amount of Rouge applied to her nonexistent cheekbones. She walked briskly up to the desk. "You will tell Marky that Agnes will see him now. At once. She will not be waiting like last time."

_Deep breaths. Yes. Breathing was good. I can take this broad. Be tough. Pull yourself together Davis! Do it for Mark. _Gathering his wits about him, Roger popped up from behind the desk. "Mark wasn't feeling so great today, but he didn't want to neglect your appointment, so he sent me." Forcing a pained smile onto his face, Roger extended his hand as if feeding it to a crocodile "I'm Roger Davis," he told her, desperately hoping she would reject his proffered hand and reschedule.

"Mark sent you?" she sneered. She looked him over...disapproving. She looked over his hand that was offered, she knew, in politeness, rather than fondness. Her cold beady eyes continued to watch him, noticing that every so often his mouth would twitch, and the plastic smile would falter. Agnes was not stupid. "So...you are the drugged up ex junkie with AIDS...yes, I know. And to answer your next question, No Marky did not tell Agnes. " she smiled dangerously. "Agnes knows all. You are the one who hurt my poor Marky. However you have brought him to me through this tango studio, so I shall consider not ruining your life." She licked her lips over her cracked teeth. "So. You are here to take Mark's place? Agnes doubts that you'll succeed. She doubt's that you even know how to tango."

With a mental sigh of relief Roger withdrew his hand, subconsciously rubbing it on his worn jeans as if to wipe away dirt. "Umm..." like a deer caught in headlights, he had no idea what to say. _How the hell did she know all that? Mark was never that open with strangers. Was he?_ Deciding that ignorance was the best course of action Roger plunged forward recklessly. "So...shall we move into the dance room?" _Great, how long do you think it'll take her to realize you don't have a clue how to tango? Five steps? Two? What had Mark said? All you need is enough passion...Yeah, no problem there_.

Agnes smirked. Yep, he definitely didn't dance. Otherwise he would know the "dance room" as he so eloquently put it, was called the "salon" or "studio". He probably didn't even know that the studio was behind the blue door. She sighed heavily. Ignorant rockstars...She walked through the blue door with growing impatience.

Roger hurried after the moving mountain. Oh god, he was going to have to touch her. _Ewwww._ As an afterthought Roger grabbed his guitar case before going in to the dance room thing. Putting this woman in such a small space with mirrors covering three walls was -not- a good idea. Less space-more Mauvaise. He was now enveloped in the cross reflections of her image like some sick House of Mirrors at a carnival. "I uh, I actually don't, I haven't umm..." he stuttered helplessly. She wasn't going to make this any easier for him. Damn.

"Is there a problem?" She asked, glaring at him furiously. "Agnes will need to be informing Marky of the incompetence of his substitute. Perhaps, Agnes should take her business elsewhere?"

"No! Umm, oh, god...I," Roger sighed. What the hell was he going to do? Mark had stressed how important this woman was to their survival. "You wanna learn how to play the guitar?" he asked feebly.

"You cannot tango? Marky sent me someone who cannot dance? Agnes guesses you will have to show that ze guitar is as exciting as the passion that is tango...or else Agnes will see that she finds a more competent dance studio to attend." She smirked.

Offended, Roger snapped. "Of course ze guitar is better than ze stupid dance!" he shouted, having lost control. His voice adopted an incredibly terrible accent, taunting her haughtiness. He didn't see how Mark put up with this woman, but then again, Roger never did have Mark's patience. His pride screaming that the French Demon be put in her place, Roger continued, void of sense. "'Ze guitar' as you so uncaringly refer to it as, produces music. Where do you think dance would be without music? You think people would go see dancers if they pranced around in a muted room? Music gives life to everything! Do -not- insult the guitar." Roger's face was flushed and his chest was heaving heavily. Slowly, his mind returned from its short, if inconvenient vacation. "Oh hell..."

Agnes stared at him blankly for a moment. Then she opened her mouth, and let out a huge roar of laughter.

Was this actually happening? Mauvaise was -laughing-? Roger thought he would've been dead, or at least have been put in a position where Mark would kill him later. But laughter?

"What's so funny?" asked Roger, perplexed.

"Nobody--" she wheezed through her fit of laughter, "Nobody has ever stood up to Agnes like that before."

"And that's a good thing?" Roger was getting very confused. He insulted her and she thought it was -amusing-?

"The thing is, Roger, Agnes is used to getting her way. What she wants she 'as always gotten through fear or intimidation. She always gets what she wants. Always." she chuckled. "You are the first person who 'as ever stood up to 'er. You 'ave a spine and she admires you for it."

"Uhhh…thanks?"

"Now, Roger. Agnes is not to be letting you off that easy. She still is annoyed at Mark's absence and your ineptitude. But she knows how you are to be fixing it." she grinned evilly.

_Oh Fuck_. He once again plastered the false smile on his face. He knew it was too good to be true. "And what might that be, Madame?"

I 'ave a niece. Clara is 'er name. She 'as always wanted to play the guitar. You will teach 'er."

_A niece? Mauvaise had -blood- relations? _He could only hope that there was no family resemblance, physically or otherwise. "Okay…How old is Clara?" he asked expecting to be teaching a teenage girl who just wanted to rebel.

"_Vingt-deux_, twenty-two. She is a singer, but she'd like to learn to accompany herself on something other than the piano that 'er mother 'as made her take lessons on since she was twelve. You will do it?"

"Yeah…" he responded, defeated. He couldn't let Mark know that he had failed to tango. "I guess so."

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A/N: A bit of a character change for our dear Agnes, explainable by the fact she sees Roger's attitude in herself. It's not OOC, I promise. Enter Clara. Should I continue her character? Should I delve into the guitar lessons as a subplot? I want your opinions! I hope that will satisfy you Snarky…guitar lessons from our own pretty-boy front-man! Hope this is a good prize for winning my little contest. So all the rest of you better pay attention, because I may open another contest soon!

Well…hope you enjoyed this little break from romance. More MarkJoanne in the next chapter, promise!


	9. Guess I'm leaving

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: Still don't own it…must you keep rubbing it in? It's all Jonathon Larson's.

Summary: Short Chapter! Maureen and Joanne decide that they're better off apart. :(

Ships: MarkJoanne, MaureenJoanne, MaureenOC?

Warnings: A little language, references to infidelity

Author's Notes: Okay, so I still have no idea where the hell I'm going with this. I'm sorry it took so long to get this out, and I'm sorry that what I did finally get out is nonsense. Thanks once again for your patience. I think that the plotline all depends on who I have together at the end, and that's still up in the air. Will it end MarkJoanne? Or MoJo? Or will everybody be alone? I don't know anymore! Plot bunnies eat my brain! Ahhh! -cries- I have so many ideas that I cannot decide! So maybe eventually, I'll make a decision, and I can have a plot again! -sighs- But knowing, me I'll probably change my mind a zillion times! I'm even rambling in my A/N! I -must- be losing it.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my useless babbling. It took forever to get out, and it really was difficult. Writer's Block hates me.

Oh, and thanks go out as always to AngstyRebel (who is helping me desperately try to recapture a plot) and The Versatile Scarf (who helps tremendously with phrasing and the actual writing bit).

Here goes nothing.

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Chapter 9: "Guess I'm leaving."

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Joanne hailed a cab to the apartment she shared with Maureen, hoping to God that the diva wouldn't be there. Joanne just wanted to sort her feelings out, she didn't need a confrontation with her ex-girlfri--wait. She hadn't broken up with Maureen yet. They were still together on a technicality. She stepped out, walking through the double doors into her building. She got into the elevator, pressed twelve, and felt the familiar motion as it took her to her floor. _Oh shit_, Joanne thought. _If Maureen and I are still technically together, and I kissed Mark…Oh my God, I -cheated- on her! But it was just a kiss to get Mark out of trouble, it didn't -mean- anything…_but Joanne knew she was lying to herself. She had wanted that kiss; she had cheated on Maureen and taken advantage of Mark. She was no longer innocent. And she was sickened because she knew where those deceitful words had stemmed from. _"Pookie!" Maureen whined. "I was just looking at her rings; it didn't -mean- anything!"_

Joanne had never been unfaithful before. Sure, she had -thought- about other people or even checked them out--But she never flirted and she definitely had never acted upon infidelity. How was she to face Maureen (for as much as she wanted to avoid it, she knew a conflict was inevitable) when she was no longer unblemished? How could she accuse Maureen, when she was guilty of the same offense?

She turned the key in the door and stepped inside to find Maureen on the couch, apparently waiting for her. When she saw Joanne, she leapt up and threw her arms around her girlfriend's neck. "Oh Pookie! Where have you been, I've been -so- worried about you!" Joanne pulled Maureen's arms off her neck, taking her lover's hands in her own and sitting her back on the couch. "Maureen…we need to talk."

Maureen sighed, tears already welling up in her eyes. "Oh God, Pookie, I am so sorry. I never meant for Daniel and I to--" she was cut off by Joanne's finger pressing against her lips.

"Maureen…I'm not all innocent either. There's…There's someone else. I…I never thought that it would happen, but I've developed feelings for…somebody…and it's not fair to you to pretend that my mind hasn't been…elsewhere. And then…I…uh…we kissed. Nothing further than that, mind you! But I wasn't exactly the most faithful to you either."

Maureen's eyes widened as Joanne continued. "This--" she gestured to the two of them, "is evidently not what we need right now. If you're obviously finding your mind wandering, and I'm finding my mind wandering, then maybe we need to take some time away from this. And if we realize that we were right for each other in the end, then great! But I think we both need to consider other possibilities, or we'll never truly be sure of what we want, and we'll keep wavering from our relationship." she sighed heavily. "And I don't want that Mo. I've never been unfaithful before in my life." she placed her head in her hands. "Honestly, Maureen, it scares me. I don't ever want to do that to you, I know how much it hurts. I think that breaking it off will be better for us."

"But Pookie," Maureen said pleadingly, "Give me another chance, we can start over. We just need some time together, that's all. We can still make this okay."

"No…I don't think we can. Maureen, this isn't just about Daniel. It's not just about infidelity. If it was mindless cheating, that would be another story. But it isn't. We made a rational choices…We knew what we were doing. We're both looking for something else. It's not fair to you, if I stay with you when my affections are somewhere else. Maureen, please try to understand."

"I just don't want to lose you." Maureen whispered tearfully, eyes on the floor.

"You'll never lose me, Mo." Joanne lifted Maureen's chin. "We'll always be friends; it'll take more than a break up to tear us apart." she chuckled quietly. "I just think that right now, friendship is better for us than a relationship."

Maureen nodded. "You're right, Pookie. Maybe if we separate and figure out what's going on it will be better." she paused looking at her ex-girlfriend sadly. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Joanne. If I did, I'm so sor--"

"No need to apologize, Maureen. I know. And I'm sorry if I hurt you. I didn't inten--"

Maureen giggled through her tears. "I know. So this is it, huh?"

"Yeah, this is it. I'm going to be…uhhh…staying at the loft for a while…until I can find a place. I'm just going to pack some things. Then I'll be out of here." Joanne grabbed a duffel bag, and began to put in essentials, hairbrush, toothbrush, shoes, clothing. She draped some suits over her arm, and added the picture of her and Maureen that sat on her nightstand. She grabbed her briefcase and her laptop, placing them in the bag also, and walked back to the living room, where Maureen was still sitting on the couch. She promptly got up, and came over to Joanne.

"I love you, Pookie." she whispered before giving her lover one last peck on the cheek.

"I love you too, Honey bear." she mumbled as she opened the door.

"Oh…and Joanne?"

"Yes, Maureen?"

"Who is it? The person that you're falling for?"

"Mark." and she stepped out, shutting the door behind her.

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A/N: Okay, so that's what you get for now. I'm -trying-! I swear I am! I hope it won't be this long until my next update. Until then I will be on a frantic quest for a plot! -gallops away on horse, in suit of armor-


	10. Music is its Own Language

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: Don't sue me, I don't own it.

Summary: This chapter takes place on a friday in Roger's life. It includes Clara's first guitar lesson and Roger's first gig at Kelsey's bar.

Ships: RogerKelsey one-sided

Warnings: Ummm…foreign language. I will have translations in (parentheses). Swearing, innuendos, etc.

Author's Notes: Time for a little more subplot! Speaking of plots, I finally figured this one out! Hooray! My writing now has a purpose! There will be a grand total of 15 chapters, and I know what is going in each and how my story ends! -Is insanely happy-.

So a huge thank you goes out to The Versatile Scarf for allowing me to steal her horse and AngstyRebel for allowing me to steal her armour in pursuit of a plot. (See chapter 9's A/N at the bottom of the chapter if you don't remember) My quest has been successful. I have finally found one.

Hopefully with less homework I'll have more time to write…

Though my writing is still babbling, it is no longer senseless. Enjoy!

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Chapter 10: Music is its own language

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"Bonjour Roger!" Mauvaise entered the loft looking around haughtily. "Zis is where you are to teach Clara?"

Roger shrugged his shoulders. He knew the loft was dirty and broken, but it was home after all. "Yeah." came his gruff reply. "So, where is she?"

"Why she is right behind Agnes. Sorti, Clara. (Come out, Clara.)"

"Mais, ma tante, J'ai peur. Je ne veux pas à. (But, Aunt, I'm afraid. I don't want to.)

"Sorti, maintenant, Clara! Devenu au courant de votre instructeur. (Come out, now, Clara! Become acquainted with your instructor.)"

Clara obeyed the power of Agnes's voice. Within a second a dark-haired girl came from behind Mauvaise's back. She was fidgeting with her hands as she stared at the floor. She had pale skin, and her eyes were bright and sharp, though Roger could not tell as they were downcast. "Bonjour, Monsieur Davis." she said quietly.

_She's twenty-two? She acts like she's thirteen. _Roger thought. The last thing Roger wanted to do was teach a girl who acted like a teenager. Actually, the last thing roger wanted to do was teach -anybody-, but he could not let Mark know that he had failed to tango, and he certainly could not disappoint Agnes now. The continuation of the Tango Studio and yes, their survival, was all depending on these guitar lessons.

"Well, Agnes 'ates to be leaving you, but she has an appointment with 'er Marky at the Ambiguous. Sois gentile, Clara. Á cinq heures. Au revoir. (Be nice, Clara. See you at 5:00. Goodbye.)"

"So…Clara. You want to learn the guitar, huh?"

Clara responded only with silence and a quizzical look. _Good Job, Davis. Great way to start. Of course she wants to learn the guitar, that's why she's here_.

"Uh…well, the guitar is a difficult instrument, but I'm sure if you apply yourself, you'll be able to learn. I'll do my best to teach you. Are you familiar with anything about the instrument?"

More silence. Clara was beginning to look worried. Don't screw this up now, Davis. "You don't have to know," he clarified quickly, "I was just wondering if you did. But you play piano right? So you know how to read music. That's a start."

Clara looked as though she was ready to burst into tears. She still had not spoken a single word.

"Look, Clara. I don't mean to be harsh or anything, but if I'm going to teach you I kind of have to know."

That did it. Clara began to cry. _Shit. Now you've done it. You've screwed everything up. You've failed Mark. No. What kind of thoughts are these? You are Roger, god damnit! You will make things work! You -have- to make things work! If not for your sake, then for Mark's. _

Roger walked over to Clara's sobbing form and placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. "Uhhh…Clara? Listen, I...um…I didn't mean what I said. I was being impatient, and I apologize. Is there anything I can help you with?"

She looked up at him, eyes glistening, and asked "Parlez-vous Français? (Do you speak French?)"

It was Roger's turn to give Clara a quizzical look. "What?" he inquired

"Parlez-vous Français? Vous pas, vous? Mais, je ne parle pas anglais! Ma tante me vous a dit Français de rai! Quest-ce que je suis à faire maintenant? Je ne comprends pas un mot que vous dites! (Do you speak French? You don't, do you? But, I don't speak any English! My Aunt told me you spoke French! What am I to do now? I don't understand a word you're saying!)"

"You don't speak English, do you? Oh fuck…" Roger ran his hands through his hair and began to pace. He was to teach guitar to a girl who didn't speak any English. "Well…damn...I …I don't know what to tell you…I…" Roger sighed heavily. He had picked up some "How to Play Guitar" books for beginners at the 99 cent store, but they weren't in French. How was he going to tell her how to place her fingers? How does E-string translate into French? Roger had to come up with a plan.

_Music is a language of its own…you don't need words, they come after. So show her! Physically show her. Move her fingers; let her hear the sound of the guitar. Have her replicate through muscle memory. _

It wasn't the most brilliant plan he had ever come up with, but it would have to do for now.

"Okay, Clara. Come here." He grabbed his acoustic and sat on the metal table. Then he remembered that Clara couldn't understand what he said. "Come here." he said again, this time incorporating a beckoning hand gesture. She understood and followed him to the table. He patted the table beside him, asking her to seat herself. She did, and he placed the guitar in her hands. After a few moments of readjusting, Roger had her holding it properly.

"Ok, now. This," he said, readjusting her fingers to the correct fret, "is your first note. You are going to play this string." He plucked the string of the guitar lightly, emitting the first note to his belovéd Musetta's Waltz. "Now you try." he made a circular motion with his hand, opening the strings to her.

Clara looked at him questioningly, before removing her hand from the frets and plucking the same string. Needless to say, it produced a much different sound. She looked up at him, waiting for instructions.

"No no no, Clara." He replaced her hand on the frets where they were before, and took her other hand and plucked the string with her. "You have to keep your fingers -on- the frets." At the contact of his hand on hers, Clara blushed. He looked at the clock. 4:30. Only a half an hour left. Now he changed her fingers positions on the frets, and plucked another string with her. "Now put them together, like this." He took the guitar from her and played the first two notes in sequence. Then he handed it back to her to try. It took her five minutes to remember how to play the first note, and another five to remember how to play the second.

"Good." Roger nodded. "Now try a little faster." He pantomimed the guitar in his hand, showing Clara the proper pace in which to play the notes. She played them again, taking less time in the transition. Again, and the transition was even faster. Roger motioned for her to continue. She played the two notes again, this time at the proper pace. 4:50. Roger showed her how to play the third note. After she picked up how to play the note, he was able to show her the rhythm between the three notes. Daaa. Da da. Half, quarter quarter. She imitated the three notes perfectly.

"Very good, Clara!"

Knock knock, knock.

" 'ello, Roger. I trust that the lesson 'as been successful."

"Well, it may have been better, Madame, if you had told me that Clara doesn't speak English!"

"Oh, did Agnes forget to tell you? Oh well, it is no matter. You better 'ave made it work. Clara, viennent ici. Montrez-moi ce que vous avez appris. (Clara, come here. Show me what you've learned.)"

Clara played the three notes in succession.

"That's all you 'ave taught 'er?" Madame question icily.

"Well, -Madame-, I did have a language barrier." Roger said pointedly.

She shot Roger a glare of loathing. "Next time, you had better improve your teaching." And with that she whisked Clara away, and out of the loft, slamming the door behind her.

---------------------------------------

"Sorry I'm late, Kelsey."

"Roger, it's your first gig here. Usually, even slackers are on time to their first gig. I hope this won't become a habit." she chuckled.

"I know, Kels. I just…" he took a deep breath before plunging in. "I have to teach Mark's client's niece the guitar and she doesn't speak any English. You should -see- Mark's client. She's huge and speaks with this horrid French accent, and her niece speaks only French, so you can imagine the trouble I had trying to tea--"

"Roger that is the lamest excuse I have ever heard. If you're going to be late at least have the spine to back it up with. Or invent a decent story." Kelsey turned away to go get a customer's drink.

"I…I..." Roger stammered, blushing like a school boy. And Roger Davis -never- blushed. He was always calm, smooth. He could sweet-talk any girl within a twenty mile radius. But not Kelsey. She didn't seem to be affected in the slightest by any of Roger's charms. She just laughed him off, and went about her business.

And there was just something about her that made Roger act thirteen again, something that made him ignorant and silly, like before AIDS and drugs and April.

And he loved that about her.

"Get your chin off the floor, Davis, and move your ass. You're already late and you have a gig to do."

He grinned goofily and began to prepare for his performance.


	11. She loves me

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: Still don't own RENT or the characters of said show. It all belongs to the late (and great!) Jonathon Larson

Summary: Joanne's birthday party! The secret is finally revealed!

Ships: MarkJoanne

Warnings: Consumption of alcohol and intoxication.

Spoilers: ummm…. It's post-RENT so if you haven't seen the show or heard the music or familiarized yourself with the plot turn back now.

Author's Notes: Now that my plot has been decided, I can update more often! Yay! It is indeed a joyous occasion. Plus I have like 5 more projects waiting for this one to be finished. Yay! Hopefully after this one I can finish "Maureen's new job" and then I have a threeshot MarkRoger songfic and a Roger fic. Oh and about a zillion oneshots. So be looking for more after this piece.

Thanks go out to RaeChouette who continues to advertise my stories all over the place, though they really aren't as great as she makes them out to be, I'm afraid. Thanks also to The Versatile Scarf who remains my inspiration and encourages me to keep writing, and to AngstyRebel who helps me a great deal with plot ideas. Also, speaking of plot, an enormous thank you goes out to mindreader208 who pretty much decided my subplot for me. Reviews are love…And I thank you in advance for making that little periwinkle button at the bottom your and my best-friend. Aaaaaaaaaaaand…that's all for now I think.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 11: "She loves me."

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Maureen twirled her hair as she sat on the couch. It had been two weeks since Joanne had left her and she was still mulling it over. After all, she was Maureen Johnson! And although they parted on good terms, Maureen was still puzzled. Mark?!? Joanne had dumped her for Mark!? The diva subconsciously shook her head. It didn't make sense.

Sure she had Daniel…and she was happy. But that didn't excuse the fact that for the first time in her life she had been -dumped-.

Rrrrrrrring. Rrrrrrrrrring.

Maureen picked up the phone off the end table. "Hello?"

"Hi, Maureen. It's Joanne."

"Hi Pookie! Have you called to ask me back?" Maureen had every intention of telling Joanne exactly how happy she was without her. That would show her.

Joanne sighed heavily. "No, Maureen. What I said to you two weeks ago was for real. I'm not coming back this time Mo."

"Then why are you calling?"

"Well…I had hoped you hadn't forgotten, but old habits die hard I guess. It's my birthday. Well, the gang is getting together tonight at the life…and I…I'd like you to go."

"Is -Mark- going?"

She could almost see Joanne putting her palm to her temple. "Maureen, yes, Mark is going. I'm trying to offer the olive-branch, here. I want to remain with good terms with you."

"How can we stay on good terms when you're in love with my ex-boyfriend?"

"Maureen! Look, this isn't even about Mark. I want to stay friends with you, but if you can't see past the fact that we're over then…You know what, Maureen? Forget it. If you want to come, then come. It's at 7. I f you don't want to come, then don't. It won't be my fault." And Joanne hung up the phone.

Maureen put down the receiver. Should she go?

She knew that she should be happy for Joanne--and Mark too. She had Daniel, why shouldn't they have someone too? Was she really -that- selfish?

-----------------------------------

It was only Mark and Joanne at her birthday celebration that night. Collins hadn't been able to come, and Roger muttered something about being indisposed and took off. Thought it was very suspicious, Joanne had learned not to question the rocker… She wasn't disappointed with her company and she found herself easily talking with Mark, as though they were lovers, not friends.

Joanne glanced at the door to the life for about the six hundredth time. It was ten past eight and Maureen still hadn't showed. She sighed. Maybe Maureen wasn't ready to reconcile the divide between them. Joanne was sure it must have been quite a shock…she couldn't imagine Maureen telling her that she had fallen for one of her ex-girlfriends. She must have been devastated…Joanne certainly would've been in her place.

"Still looking for her?"

Joanne, startled out of her reverie, came face to face with a concerned Mark. "Yeah…I just…I wish that we could patch things between us…" she trailed off.

"You shouldn't let her ruin your birthday though." Mark smiled. "Let's have fun, anyway."

The door to The Life opened, Maureen entering, fashionably late, holding a box wrapped in purple. She handed the gift to Joanne, and bounced onto the seat. "Sorry, I'm late," she said. "I had an audition."

Joanne smiled. So there -had- been a legitimate reason, Maureen wasn't avoiding her.

"Why is this place so dead?" the diva proceeded to ask. "Isn't this supposed to be a birthday celebration? Jimmy!"

"Hey, Mo. How can I help you?"

"Alcohol and lots of it. This is supposed to be a party."

-----------------------------------

"So then…" Maureen giggled "Joanne fell right down on her ass." she took another swig of the drink in front of her. "Right in fron'a everybody."

Joanne wasn't laughing. It was eleven o' clock, and Maureen was piss drunk. "Mo, I think you've had enou--"

"Don' tell me, Jo." Maureen snapped. "After what you did--" she hiccupped "--you've no right to tell me what to do."

"What do you mean she has no right Maureen?" Mark asked furiously. "It is her party, and she didn't do anything to you. After what you did to -her-…"

"Shu'up Marky. You don' know. Joanne isn' innocent anymore."

"What the hell do you mean? Maureen, I haven't been blind for a long time. You can't fool me anymore." Mark said calmly. Mark was always placid on the surface when he was livid. "Joanne has suffered enough because of you, and I don't thi--"

"You love her too don't you?!?" Maureen asked enraged.

"Maureen…you have really had too much to drink." Joanne said pleadingly. "Please…just go home."

"No." The actress refused. "I will not until I know if he's a traitor too." Her eyes flashed. "I already know you love him. I want to know if he loves you too."

There was a stunned silence.

"What?" Mark asked breaking the awkward pause.

"I have to go." Joanne placed some money on the table and rushed out of the café, hailing a cab and fleeing.

-----------------------------------

"Maureen…you had better explain what just happened."

"She lef' me 'cause she loves you. It's what she told me." Maureen huffed. "I can see where I'm not wan'ed. I'm goin' home." And with that, Maureen left.

Mark paid the bill at The Life and went home.

That evening he lay awake in bed, not being able to sleep, one thought continuing to tumult through his thoughts.

"She loves me."

-----------------------------------

A/N: Okay, another chapter done and we draw closer to the end. Only four chapters left, my friends. As always, I thank you for reading… (And reviewing?)


	12. Roger's Schemes

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: Still don't own RENT or the characters of said show. It all belongs to the late (and great!) Jonathon Larson

Summary: More subplot…Yay! So basically, in this chapter we realize Clara's subtle affection for Roger…and Roger's…not-so-subtle affection for Kelsey. But the question is, does Kelsey respond? And how will Clara react? Read to find out

Ships: ClaraRoger one-sided, RogerKelsey (perhaps more than one-sided?)

Warnings: ummm…Language. Adult themes… (C'mon, folks! This is RENT fanfiction.) Bar setting (alcohol will be present). And of course with Clara, French (don't worry, translations will be in (parentheses).) Guitar chords will be inserted to "Blowin' in the Wind" by Bob Dylan will be inserted, because I don't know how to write guitar playing…just the chords. If you want to hear a portion of the song go to and click on RealAudio or Windows Media and you'll be able to hear the first verse and chorus. The song itself has no real significance to the story…this is not a songfic. It's just there.

Spoilers: ummm…April and Mimi are both dead. That's about it.

Author's Notes: An -enormous- thank you goes out to those who reviewed the last chapter… I am now past 60 reviews! I want to send a special thank you to Sargent Snarky (who Clara is based off of!) for her continued devotion to this piece. I value her feedback more than she will ever know. My thanks also extend to The Versatile Scarf, who encourages me to continue writing, even when I think I write total shit, and who always offers honest feedback. If I ever get to be half the writer she is, I will count myself blessed. Thanks also to AngstyRebel who continues to provide me a living, breathing model of Roger to draw inspiration from. She is the reason this piece continued.

Also thanks (in advance) to the reader, for taking the time to read this. I know that there are pieces better than mine, which are more worthy of your time. Please review, even if you hated it. I really do appreciate feedback, and it helps me improve my writing. I do take what reviewers say seriously. If you liked it, please drop a quick note to tell me so. If you didn't please also drop a quick note to tell me so. Thank you.

On with the story!

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Chapter 12: Roger's schemes

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Roger hated being rushed. Kelsey had just called him telling him that the gig at the bar had to start an hour early…she didn't give a reason. He needed to be at the bar at five o'clock Unfortunately, Clara's lesson didn't end until five o' clock. This meant the unfortunate circumstance of taking Clara to the bar would be inevitable.

Roger willed his stomach to unclench. It wasn't anything to worry over…no. He would be calm. It didn't matter that by bringing Clara to the bar, Kelsey might get the impression that they were dating, or that Clara herself might get that impression. It didn't matter that if Mauvaise found out where he was taking her niece she might kill him. It didn't matter that his entire existence might fall down around him in this moment.

Who was he trying to kid? Of course it mattered! He ran his hand down his face, sighing deeply. Any moment now, Mauvaise was going to walk in the door with Clara, and he needed to decide what to do… Should he tell Mauvaise that he had a -paying- gig and that he had to cancel the appointment and risk her telling Mark of his failure to tango and withdrawing her patronage of The Ambiguous? Or should he take Clara to the bar and flirt with disaster, risking every foundation he's been trying to gain with Kelsey, also risking Clara's well-being and complete and utter annihilation by Mauvaise?

Knock Knock, Knock.

_Shit._

"Roger! We are 'ere for Clara's lesson! You will open this door now."

"Uh….just a minute Madame…I'm…uhhh…naked?"

Roger thought quickly. He needed to come up with a plan. Now.

"You were supposed to be ready. Agnes will count to three before she opens this door."

_Well, now Clara is here, there really isn't much choice…_

"One…"

_But I don't want to take her to the bar…_

"Two…"

_I'll just have to be careful…Shit. Today is not my day._

"Three." Agnes burst through the door to the loft, causing Roger's face to elucidate the expression of a deer caught in headlights. He quickly recovered, adopting a plastic grin, and making a silent pact with every deity that existed that if he lived through this he would reform all of his ways---Silent prayers of a desperate man.

"Madame Mauvaise, my apologies. I woke up late today."

"Zat is no excuse. You were to be ready. You were not. Zerefore, zere must be consequences."

"Consequences, Madame?"

"Yes, consequences. Agnes will think of them in time. But now you will teach Clara." She raised her nose haughtily and left the loft.

Roger sighed. "Clara? I…umm…" He took a deep breath and spoke, almost as if encouraging a partly deaf child--slow and loud while pantomiming the actions with his hands. "We…go…somewhere…else."

She looked at him, wide-eyed and innocent, clearly oblivious.

This was going to be a long day.

-------------------------

"Roger, don't bring your hookers here. This may be a bar, but damnit, it's a high class bar."

_Smooth, Roger. Play it smooth._ "Not jealous are you Kelsey?" he smiled his easy 'come-hither' smile that always sent girls reeling. "Well, this happens to be my guitar student, Clara… 'Member I told you about her? The one who doesn't speak English?"

"Oh, so you're not paying her for sex, you're paying her to put up with this charade. Nice, Roger, real nice."

Roger's smile dropped. Kelsey still didn't believe him! Any smugness he might have felt at producing evidence that he had been honest with her had vanished. "But…she…she's right here…ask her!" he stammered.

"Roger, I am not dignifying your sham with something as stupid as humiliating this girl. Now, why are you here this early? I told you five o' clock, not four."

"I told you, Kels. I teach Clara guitar. Since you asked that I be here at five and Clara's lesson ends at five, I had to bring her here, so I wouldn't be late." Maybe Roger would win her over and show her he -was- responsible. He smiled again. "I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

"You had better be done by five, Davis."

"Right." Roger replied before turning his attention to the mousy brunette he had brought with him. "Ummm. Clara?"

She looked at him. "Have you…uhhh…," he mimed playing a guitar in midair. "Been practicing?"

She picked up her guitar case. After opening it, and pulling out her guitar, she sat it on her lap and played the entirety of Musetta's waltz…including chords.

She looked up at him hopefully, satisfied by finding an expression of astonishment on Roger's face.

"Clara! How did you…? I didn't teach you this. I…" his brow furrowed thoroughly confused.

She giggled and smiled, before pulling out a French guitar instruction booklet and a copy of the music from Musetta's Waltz.

Roger sighed. There went his lesson plans. "How much can you play?" he asked.

She replied with a blank quizzical look.

"Here. I have an idea. I'll play." he motioned to himself and his guitar and mimed playing. "Then you repeat, okay?" motioning to her and her guitar.

He played. She repeated.

D G D G

How many roads must a man walk down ...

A4 A D G D

man ? Yes n how many seas must ...

C A4 A D G D

sleeps in the sand Yes n a-how ...

G A4 A

balls fly before they're ...

Chorus

G A D F# Bm G

The answer my friend is blowing ...

A D

blowing in ...

D G D G A4

How many times must a man look up ...

A D G D G

Yes n how many ears must one ...

A4 D G D

people cry Yes n how many deaths ...

G A4 A

that too many ...

Chorus

D G D G

How many years can a ...

A4 A D G D

sea Yes n how many years can some ...

G A4 A D G D

they're allowed to be free? Yes n ...

G A4 A

turn his head pretending he ...

Chorus

slowly

G A D

The answer is blowing ...

Clara had learned a lot more than he had thought her capable of in this week. He smiled widely at her, thinking that perhaps teaching her wasn't going to be as difficult as he had originally thought. She was bright, and she paid attention. Not to mention she had taken her time to study.

He looked at her pensively. He vaguely wondered if she was Mauvaise's niece by blood, because she had no family resemblance. She was a pretty girl, albeit shy, with large brown doe-eyes. _She'd be even prettier if she had a little confidence_, he decided. He supposed that her shyness came from not speaking the same language as him. He looked at the clock on the wall. … 4:45. The lesson was almost over and Mauvaise would soon be picking her up and Roger would begin his gig.

_Wait, Mauvaise would be picking Clara up?_

_Oh shit, Mauvaise picks Clara up at the loft._

His entire plan had been rendered futile by this little bit of information he had forgotten.

_Fuck._

"You're on in fifteen, Roger!" came Kelsey's voice from across the bar.

"I'll be onstage in a minute, Kels. I gotta tell Clara something...Quick, Clara, in here!" Roger said to the confused girl as he pushed her into the men's restroom. Glancing up, he saw a window near the ceiling, just big enough to squeeze a human body through. It was the only way. If he managed this…

He motioned from Clara to the window, quickly, showing her where she was to go, before hoisting her up and waiting for her to crawl through. He then clambered onto the sink near the window, and pushed himself outside. As soon as he hit the floor he grabbed Clara's arm and took off at a run toward the loft. He had to make it! He just -had- to.

Luckily the bar wasn't that far from the loft. By the time they had reached it 5 minutes had elapsed, and Mauvaise was just coming up the street. _Shit_. They had to beat her inside! He raced up the flights of stairs pulling a very bewildered Clara behind him. They had just closed the door behind them when Mauvaise knocked on the door.

Roger opened the door. "Madame?" he panted.

"Why are both of you so out of breath?" she questioned.

"We've been exercising. It… uhhh….improves the rhythmic reflexes."

Mauvaise eyed him skeptically. "Okay, then. Come Clara."

As soon as the two had turned the corner of the loft, Roger dashed back to the bar in the opposite direction. He crawled back through the window, splashed some water on his face and dried it with a towel to cool him down. He exited the bathroom in what he hoped had been a 'cool' manner.

"That better have been some mind-blowing sex, Davis, for you to almost miss your gig. I told you, no hookers." Kelsey greeted him. "Either that or you spent a really long time messing up your hair."

"I had to take Clara back to the loft really quickly." Roger explained. "No sex. I don't even like her Kelsey." He took a step closer to her and purred low in her ear "You know you're the only one I want."

Kelsey pushed him away. "You made it to the loft and back in fifteen minutes?"

"Fourteen."

"Good Job." She smiled. "Now get your ass on that stage, before you're late."

-------------------------

After the gig, Roger still riding on the performance adrenaline high, had decided to finally make his move on Kelsey. He had just performed the best he had in a long while, and he thought now would be a good time.

He walked over and leaned against the bar, waiting for Kelsey to come to him. That was his style. Sit back, be cool, and let the girls come to him. When she had no more customers to wait on, she came over and sat next to him.

"Hey Rog. You did great tonight." she commented simply and sincerely.

Roger seldom experienced the phenomenon that is speechlessness. But whenever he was faced with Kelsey, his tongue seemed to stop functioning. Instead Roger had found himself lost in the hazel-green eyes in front of him. Without reserve he stared openly at her, mesmerized. He remained that way for a while, before Kelsey interjected.

"Are you not done staring at me or are you going to kiss me yet?"

He grinned, and decided to follow her advice.


	13. April Showers

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: Still don't own RENT or the characters of said show. It all belongs to the late (and great!) Jonathon Larson

Summary: The moment you have all been waiting for….Mark and Joanne get together! This has been a long time coming, but I wanted to wait until now to do it. So here it is. Reappearance of Chelsea the secretary!

Ships: MarkJoanne 3

Warnings: Excessive Cheesy Romance--This is Fluff

Spoilers: Mark and Joanne love each other.

Author's Notes: Ok, so this one has been in the works for a while. I apologize in advance for the blatant clichés I will be employing, but folks, this is the "awwww" chapter…and damnit, it will be cute! I have deemed it so! Haha. Nothing but pure unadulterated sap, and I hope you will forgive me.

Thanks go out to The Versatile Scarf and AngstyRebel as always, just for being key factors in my -actual- putting out of writing. The Versatile Scarf for being the muse for my Mark, and AngstyRebel for being the inspiration for my Roger. Without these two, you would not be reading this.

Thanks to SargentSnarky who created the character of Clara, by winning a contest of mine.

And to you, for reading (and perhaps reviewing?) this piece.

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Chapter 13: April Showers

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Joanne sat looking out the window of her hotel room, gazing at the city below her. It was April and raining, and the city looked so placid--bright lights against a dark sky. Joanne had grown up in the city, and she loved the rain most of all. Even as a little girl, she would dance in the rain until she got tired and then lay on the roof of her building, until she was thoroughly soaked. The rest of the day was spent with a thick pair of socks and old movies. She often sat in the bathtub in the dark, letting the shower water roll down her back, simulating the warm summer rain. Rain always seemed to cleanse everything; it was a time for hot chocolate and warm blankets, and after the rain you had a fresh start.

She certainly could use a fresh start now.

Joanne's entire world was revolving around her; she used to be so sure, so confident. Now she wasn't sure of anything. Who would have ever guessed that a scrawny filmmaker could turn her whole world upside-down?

_Oh, Mark_.

She leaned forward, pressing the warm flesh of her forehead to the cold glass. What she wouldn't give to see Mark again…but she knew that was impossible. After Maureen decided to disclose the fact that Joanne had fallen for him, she wouldn't face him.

She -couldn't- face him.

She had taken every precaution to avoid him, she had her secretary insist that she was always busy, she had stopped going to tango lessons, she had done everything in her power to avoid the awkward confrontation that was sure to follow.

But she couldn't stop thinking about him.

Joanne sighed heavily, her breath fogging the glass before her, listening to the beating sound of the rain. Normally, the rhythm would lull her into tranquility, but tonight it made her focus on the only thing she needed for the peace to be complete--Mark. She needed to get out. This hotel room was stifling--She was alone with only her thoughts, and those thoughts were what she needed escape from.

Removing herself from her post at the window, she found her coat and scarf hanging on the back of a chair. She put them on, before finding gloves to add to the ensemble.

She needed to walk.

A walk in the rain would clean this up, wash her problems away, make her new. A walk in the rain would clear her thoughts, and wipe away the chaos in her head.

She opened the door, and walked down the hallway, getting into the hotel elevator. Once on the ground floor, she left the building, walking in the rain. She didn't know where she was walking or why she was walking. All she knew was that she had to keep walking, because if she didn't she would think of Mark. Think of how all she wanted right then, was for Mark to take in her in his arms and whisper words of comfort, so familiar to her because of her frequent fights with Maureen. Think of the paradox of his scrawny arms being the only place she felt secure. She had to walk, or she would remember how much she loved him.

--------------------

Mark sat, staring out the windows of the tango salon. He listened to the sound of the rain falling on the windowpanes, beating a steady rhythm to accompany his thoughts.

Drop. _Joanne loves me. _Drop drop.

Drop drop._ I love Joanne. _Drop

Drop. _Joanne is gone. _Drop drop drop.

Joanne had vanished, not even coming to the loft to collect her things. She had stopped coming to her lessons, though Mark kept her appointments vacant, just in case. Vacant--empty of the joy that Joanne had brought him, empty of the contentment Mark had discovered in her presence.

Empty of the only woman he had ever felt complete with.

Through his director's perspective, he thought the rain was quite appropriate. It was the perfect setting for a melancholy story like the one he was in. It wasn't the first time Mark had viewed people as characters, and if this one wasn't so close, he might have laughed at how cliché everything was happening.

Except the happy ending.

Mark watched the rain fall onto the street below him. He saw multi-coloured umbrellas and slickers, and galoshes. He saw gloves and scarves, bright patterns against the dismal grey of the weather. Everyone hurrying to get inside, or to go someplace, but no one slowing down to see the beauty of the storm itself. The magnificence of the sadness was lost on most, as they saw only the mud and the cold. Mark saw the water droplets randomly forming patterns on the pavement, and the wondrous gift of rebirth that nature was granting them.

Just like him to find the glory in misery.

He willed himself to see the beauty in his own unhappiness. He tried to laugh at the irony of the fact that Maureen had left him for Joanne, but Joanne had left Maureen for him; it didn't matter in the end, because although his love life finally made sense and was working and complete, it had vanished as soon as it had appeared.

He tried to distance himself. He tried to detach.

He just never counted on not being able to this time.

--------------------

"Hey, watch where you're going!" came the angry voice of the passerby that Joanne had just run into.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying atte--" Joanne began as the other stormed off angrily.

Joanne took a moment to look around, being brought back to earth by the collision.

_Oh Fuck. Is this some kind of twisted joke, God?! Is this some sort of sick intervention of fucking fate?_

Joanne had stopped right in front of The Ambiguous.

This had happened to her before. In fact, this was the reason that she and Mark first kissed. This was the spark that ignited the feelings from within her.

Well, now she was determined to make it the end as well.

All feelings aside, Joanne knew that she had to send Mark a clear message that she would never see him again, instead of running away from him. She was never one to dangle people's emotions from their heartstrings, and she knew if she didn't tell Mark once and for all she would be. But she still couldn't face him.

_I know. I'll cancel my appointments at The Ambiguous with Chelsea, instead of just not showing up. That should be enough._

She walked up the familiar stairs, feet dancing in time to the beating of the rain. She peeked in the door first to see if Mark was in the waiting room. He wasn't--he usually wasn't. She entered the studio and walked to Chelsea's desk.

"Joanne! You're back! Mark told--"

"Shhh!" Joanne placed her finger to her lips. "I don't want him to know I'm here. I just came to officially cancel my appointments."

"Cancel?"

"Yes. So Mark can open them to other clients. I won't be coming anymore."

"Mark will be devastated. I suggested that he open them up a while ago, but he refused, saying you'd come back. Saying that he needed you to come back."

"I can't come back, Chelsea." she sighed. "Give him my best, okay?"

"Alright."

"Chelsea, did we get any new clients this week or--Joanne." Mark had walked in from the tango studio just before she had made her escape. He stood, looking at her confusedly before speaking in almost a whisper, "I've missed you."

She couldn't handle it, she bolted. Out he door and down the steps into the rain with Mark following her.

"Joanne!"

He was gaining ground and she had to run faster. She had to get away, she couldn't face him. Not after what Maureen had done. She didn't want to remember his mesmerizing eyes, or his long blonde eyelashes, his scrawny arms, or the way his left eyebrow raised when he gave his quirky little half smile. She had to get away, before she fell in love all over again.

"Joanne." he had caught up with her, taking hold of her arm to stop her.

"Let me go, Mark." Joanne's voice was desperate as she pleaded with Mark for distance. She begged to be lost in the sea of people in the rain, without love, without confusion and without Mark.

Well, maybe she didn't long to be without Mark.

"No. Joanne. Please listen to me." he pulled her to face him. _Oh God, those eyes_. She was lost again, it was over. She loved Mark.

"Joanne, where have you been, I've been looking for you, I needed to ask you about what Maureen--"

"Don't, Mark. Please don't."

"Joanne," she looked into his eyes, his sincerity nearly scorching her. "I love you."

"Mark, I--You what?!"

"I love you. I--I've loved you for a long time and I held back because of all the emotion you had to handle with Maureen. But--damnit, it hurt, and I -need- to know. I love you Joanne." If only he wasn't so honest…if only he wasn't so genuine. She could have lied to him, then. "Do you love me?"

She willed her lawyer's instinct to kick in. She willed her feet to move. She willed herself to have any response except the one that would reveal her feelings.

Later, she would swear it was his eyes. She would swear it was the way he looked at her and that those ice-blue orbs pierced her boundaries, and made her crumble.

"Yes." she whispered, barley audible. "Yes, Mark. I love you."

Bringing his forehead to hers, Mark whispered back, "I knew it."

The rain falling on them, slowly, he placed cream-coloured hand on coffee-coloured cheek, and brought his soft lips to hers.


	14. Plan B

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: Still don't own RENT or the characters of said show. It all belongs to the late (and great!) Jonathon Larson

Summary: Roger and Kelsey love each other-- Clara isn't very happy about that. Mark and Joanne love each other--Mauvaise isn't too happy about that. When love has finally prevailed, a new obstacle presents itself.

Ships: MarkJoanne, RogerKelsey, one-sided ClaraRoger.

Warnings: Cursing, Adult themes, and the return of Agnes the Horrible.

Spoilers: Mimi is dead. Anything else? No, not really.

Author's Notes: So now that you and I have both endured a chapter of meaningless fluff, we return to both the plot and the subplot. Ahhh, trouble is brewing for our protagonists!

So, chapter 14…wow. Almost done, folks. Only one more chapter to go after this one.

Heartfelt thanks go out to The Versatile Scarf, for taking her time to help me this story, and of course for being my Mark. She inspired me to keep writing, even when I had given up on this. I couldn't have done any of this without her; she remains the reason for the continuance of this piece. ♥

Thanks also go out to AngstyRebel, who never complains when I ask her to brainstorm with me. Quite a few plotbunnies in this have been hers. She is the driving force behind the plot, and if it weren't for her, I'd still be attempting to find one. Thanks also to her for being my own personal Roger. ♥

And thanks to you, the reader, who took the time to read this. I really do appreciate it. With approximately 5 reviews a chapter I have been blessed beyond anything I could have imagined. 70 reviews is a lot for a story about a not-so-popular pairing. I really am grateful for them, as they have had a decisive effect on my plotline…now that I have one. So thanks to those who continue to read and review, and thanks to those that will. ♥

On with the story!

-------------------

Chapter 14: Plan B

-------------------

After Mark and Joanne parted, each slightly out of breath, a silence ensued. Not an awkward silence, or a deadly silence, or a confusing silence. It was a comfortable silence between the two of them, disturbed only by the bustling of the people around them and the fall of the rain. Mark looked into Joanne's eyes, soft and perceptive as a doe's.

"Joanne." he whispered.

"Mmmm?" she whispered back.

"We're getting wet." The profundity of this statement caused them both to giggle. "C'mon, the Ambiguous isn't far, we can dry off there." he smiled.

"Alright."

And they began to walk back towards the beginning, hand in hand.

-------------------

Roger and Kelsey separated eyes only on each other.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time." Roger confessed grinning. "It was better than I imagined."

"Well, all that eye-staring, and I knew something was up." Kelsey laughed. "What about Clara?"

"What about her? She's a student I had to take on so I didn't get killed….don't look at me like that! It's true." Roger insisted facing Kelsey's skeptical look. He took a deep breath, "So there's this woman named Mauvaise and she is absolutely the worst woman, ---if you could even call her that--- that I have ever met. She takes lessons at Mark's tango studio, but this one time Mark couldn't go because he had a hangover, so -I- had to go, and--"

Kelsey had silenced him with a kiss.

Neither of them noticed, however, the mousy brunette in the corner an expression of pure hatred.

Clara had seen them.

-------------------

"I think I have some towels in the salon" Mark said, as they stepped inside the building.

"Why would you have towels in there?"

"Wet floors mean death in a tango salon. I keep them to avoid injuries on days like this."

Joanne nodded. She followed Mark inside like a lost puppy, still dazed by what had happened to her in the last half hour.

Mark had kissed her. Mark loved her. Maybe her life wasn't as hopeless as she had thought.

"Here." Mark tossed her a fluffy white towel, before using one himself_. He's so cute when he's wet_, Joanne thought. _He looks a little like a scarecrow._ She giggled quietly, watching him instead of drying off.

So they had kissed each other and exchanged declarations of love. Where did that leave them? Were they together? Was this too fast?

"Joanne, you're dripping on my floor." Mark cocked his quirky little half-grin. "You should dry off."

"Sorry, I…I was just thinking."

Mark walked toward her. "About what?"

_You. Us_. "Things."

"Us?" Damn he was good.

"Yeah, a little. It just seems to have happened so fast, doesn't it? Don't misunderstand me; I'm not having second thoughts." She looked into his crystalline eyes. "I'm--I'm just a little disoriented. I mean, where does this leave us now?"

"Well, I love you…"

"I love you too."

"…and I want to be with you. If you're ready. I don't want to jump into anything that would make you uncomfortable, and I know you just split from Maureen, but…"

"Shhh, Mark. That's exactly what I want." she said, pressing her index finger to his lips, before exchanging her finger with her own mouth.

-------------------

"Madame, you -really- cannot go in there right now. Mr. Cohen is with a client."

"Agnes will do whatever she pleases! It is not the other client's appointment, it is Agnes's!" the enormous woman practically screeched.

"Madame, I assure you Mr. Cohen will be done shortly, and there will be a compensation for this wait, but you simply -cannot- go in there!" Chelsea was beginning to lose her patience with this woman. "There are rules that must be followed, Madame, and I cannot admit you! I'm sorry!" She took a deep breath, "In the mean time, if you wish to take advantage of our waiting room facilities…"

"I am Agnes Mauvaise! Do not tell Agnes what she seemply can or cannot do! Agnes will see Mark, -now-!" she strode toward the door, Chelsea following in vain, conflicted about whether she wanted to attempt to stop Mauvaise or keep her job.

The royal blue door to the salon was thrown open to reveal a -very- occupied Mark and Joanne.

"What iz 'zis?" Mauvaise cried, outraged upon seeing -her- Marky kissing another woman. "Marky!"

"Oh my God." Chelsea whispered, before bolting, disregarded.

"Madame...uh, I can explain. It's just that…Joanne and I are kind of…what I mean to say is..." Mark stammered.

"Zere can no explaining! Agnes has seen enough! You will regret this day!" and with that she turned on her heel, stomping as noisily as possible out of the building and into the rain.

-------------------

"Clara, you mean to tell Agnes that you have failed in making Roger love you? You were to get Roger to love you, so Agnes could trap Mark into marrying her. Now they both are attached to other women."

"Look, lady." Clara said her exasperation showing through her New York accent. "You hired me to get Roger to love me, and I would have if it weren't for that Kelsey bitch. But plans are screwed now. No job accomplished, no payoff, that simple. So I'll be on my way." she turned away and began to walk off, deciding that nothing short of the promised twelve grand was worth consorting with this woman.

"Not so fast. Do you still want the payoff? Agnes has 'Plan B'."

Clara turned around, eyeing Mauvaise thoughtfully. "What's Plan B?"

-------------------

"Mark, calm down." The blonde was crouched on the floor, hands over his face. Joanne walked closer in an attempt to comfort him. . This isn't the end of anything. What are you talking about?" He pulled away from her touch, attempting to self-soothe. He stood up and began to pace.

"Joanne, it is the end! Mauvaise paid for everything in this tango studio! Her money kept Roger and I alive and me making documentaries instead of selling my soul to Buzzline."

"This woman has no control over your life…or Roger's. She is nothing, Mark. Be happy you'll never see her again." Joanne didn't understand why Mark was so upset over the loss of that horrid beast of a woman.

"But Jo--"

"Listen. If it's money you're concerned about, then you should have no worries. I love you, and my money is yours. I love this tango studio and it means as much to me as it does to you. We'll keep it running, of course. Without Mauvaise." she smiled slightly before placing her hands on his shoulders. "It's all right, Mark." she whispered. "We'll be alright."

He turned around, eyes trusting as a child. "Promise?"

"Promise."

-------------------

"And you're sure this will work?"

"Of course Agnes is sure! 'Ow dare you doubt 'er!?"

"Alright then. But this is dangerous now, it isn't just 'love games' anymore, this is felony abduction and prison if we get caught." Clara looked at Mauvaise seriously. "If I'm gonna put my ass on the line with the -law- twelve grand ain't going to cut it. I want more money."

"'Ow much are you wanting Agnes to give you?"

"A hundred grand. A hundred thousand dollars or I go straight to the police."

Agnes thought for a moment, before deciding that her Marky was worth it.

"Alright."

-------------------

"You hungry? I think we should go see if Mark wants to go to the Life for a celebration."

Kelsey smiled at Roger. "Yeah, that sounds good." They stepped out into the rain, and began to walk down the avenue.

"Roger?" asked a sweet voice with a slight accent.

"Clara? What are you doing here?" Roger asked confused. Didn't he just drop her at the loft?

"I…have…question." she said slowly, as though she had been practicing it for a long while.

Roger chuckled. In the way one might think a toddler is cute when they speak or a tiger is cute in a cage, so Roger regarded Clara learning to speak English. And perhaps (subconsciously) a little vainly, he was proud for having been the catalyst for her English learning.

"Sure, Clara." he smiled. "What is it that you needed to ask me?"

"Need…talk…private." she glanced at Kelsey nervously. Of course, Roger thought, she doesn't know Kelsey, so she wouldn't be comfortable around her.

"Alright. This'll only take a moment, Kels." He followed Clara into an alleyway out of public sight.

He turned to face Clara. "Alright, now what is--"

Roger had been abruptly cut off by something colliding with his head.

--Meanwhile--

Kelsey stood in front of the bar waiting for French-wench to get done talking to Roger. It wasn't that Kelsey was jealous. She knew she had more to offer Roger than just about anyone. Kelsey was just impatient, and she felt that Clara was a stupid distraction. She was hungry and had decided that she wanted chocolate milk. Besides the lesson was over, so shouldn't Roger be charging for this waste of time?

She was getting wet. Where was Roger?

"Excuse me?" Kelsey turned and saw this great hulk of a woman towering over her.

"Yes can I help you?" Kelsey said irritated as the woman's plastic mole fell off of her face.

The answer was never heard as Kelsey was knocked into cold dark oblivion.

--Meanwhile--

"Will you stay at the loft tonight? All of your things are there….and I miss you." Mark smiled hopefully at Joanne, hoping that this wasn't too fast for her. Now that Mark had her back, he didn't want to let her go.

Joanne grinned, realizing all that she had been longing for was coming to her. "Yeah, I just need to nab a case file from the hotel, and then I'll come, okay?"

"Okay."

Joanne quickly gave Mark a chaste kiss, blushing like a schoolgirl, and walked out of the tango studio, and towards her hotel.

She had made about two blocks progress, when some idiot knocked her over. The mousy brunette with dark eyes helped her up, apologizing softly with what sounded like a French accent.

"No worries. It's a little slippery when it rains, so all is forgi--"

A blunt object connected with her head, and Joanne could not finish her pardon.

She had been knocked unconscious.

-------------------

A/N: Yes, I know I am mean, leaving it here! It just felt like a good ending spot. Don't worry, they will be okay.

Reviews are love, so please don't forget to make that little periwinkle button your and my best friend!


	15. The Escape

Tango Lessons

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: Still don't own RENT or the characters of said show. It all belongs to the late (and great!) Jonathon Larson. I don't own Indiana Jones or anything affiliated with him. I do not own _Escape from Alcatraz_ or _The Princess Bride_.

Summary: Our protagonists are taken captive. Mark is put between a rock and a hard place while the others plot an escape attempt in which comedy ensues.

Ships: MarkJoanne, RogerKelsey

Warnings: Well…let's just say law enforcement makes an appearance. Discussion of criminal abduction, larceny, and murder.

Spoilers: Mimi is dead.

Author's Notes: Omg Last Chapter! And to think, this piece was originally to be a oneshot! I never would've dreamed that I would've have gotten this far…and it truly is all thanks to those who continued to read and review this. I especially appreciate the patience you displayed while I was battling the worst case of writer's block I have ever encountered. This journey is coming to a close, and though I have been more frustrated with this piece than anything else in my life, I think I'm going to be sad to see it go.

Thanks go out to all of those who have read and reviewed thus far:

The Versatile Scarf, Serendipity Kat, They call me- mia, C. Daneils, AngstyRebel, ListenNatalie, kiss the pain, Leondra, aria96, MoowitMi324, Early October, mindreader208, luvforsawyer, UnnamedElement, Sargent Snarky, pucktofaerie, Rent is my anti drug, i die without you, Television Jett, Rae Chouette, Celestial Pendent, CelticGirl8705, and Twitchy the Squirrel.

And especially to those who continue to read and review.

Sargent Snarky gets a special 'thank you' for allowing me to play around with the character of Clara, established when she won my contest. She gave me the best plot twist I have ever written.

Special recognition extends to my duo of outstanding brainstormers and unofficial editors, The Versatile Scarf and AngstyRebel. Without the two of them, none of this would be possible. This story would've died in like the third chapter. Angsty Rebel contributed plotbunnies galore and never complained when I asked her for help. She was always enthusiastic (sometimes a little too enthusiastic) about helping and for that I am eternally grateful. She was my wonderful inspiration for Roger. And The Versatile Scarf, who not only supplied the muse for my Mark, but who was honest and up-front with me about my stories, and continued to encourage me to keep writing.

On with the story!

-------------------

Chapter 15:

-------------------

Joanne blearily opened her eyes, as a searing pain shot through her head. She willed herself to concentrate to see where she was and what had happened to her. He wrists were bound behind the wooden and worn chair she was sitting in, and her feet were bound together, both with the same rough cord. The room around her was cold and dark, and it appeared to be someone's basement. Grey brick walls on all four sides of her, with a set of stairs on the corner furthest from her, the only source of light coming from what she supposed was the entrance--needless to say the light was far from adequate. She noticed that there were two other figures on the wall opposite her, though in this light, she couldn't make out their faces--both had longish hair, one about shoulder-length, one a little longer, and they were bound as she was, but that was all she could see. There were stacks of ancient and decaying boxes, and other oddities, you might find in a storage room that wasn't used frequently. Definitely not a good sign.

Joanne closed her eyes, trying desperately to think of anything that could help her in this situation. For the first time she wished that she liked espionage movies more, the knowledge she could have gleaned would have been useful. She laughed in spite of herself at the idiocy of the previous thought. Films couldn't help her now.

Mark was far away.

She kept her eyes shut, now to hold back the hot tears of frustration that were threatening to come. How could a day as wonderful as today be changed in so quick of an instant? All the change was too much, too fast, and Joanne's emotions were volatile. She had gone from depression to elation, to unconsciousness to fear in a couple of hours. Well, she thought it was only a couple of hours, who knows how long she blacked out for? And what was Mark feeling right now? Had he noticed that she hadn't come? Would he look for her? How would he ever find her?

A sob choked in her throat, and the futility of the entire situation pushed her farther over the edge. Joanne was not used to being helpless.

She was pulled from her own thoughts by a dull groan from the other end of the room. The bound figure with the shorter hair had come to. "Holy Shit." He cursed under his breath.

Joanne raised an eyebrow in disbelief. It couldn't be.

Another inhuman groan resonated throughout the basement, accompanied by a "what the fuck?" as the figure struggled against his cords.

"Roger?" Joanne had to know. It was worth a try anyway.

"Joanne? Is that you? What is going on?"

"Hell if I know. Are you alright?"

"I think so."

"Okay good.

"Joanne…" he sighed. "Fuck."

"Yeah, that about says it. What happened to you?"

"Well, I remember Kelsey and I were leaving the bar, and then Clara…oh God, Clara."

"Who is Clara?"

"Mauvaise's niece. I teach her guitar…don't ask, long story. Well, she had a question, so I left Kelsey to go talk to her, and then something hit me and I blacked out."

Joanne wondered where Kelsey was now…maybe she was with Mark, looking for th--unless…

"Hey, Rog, can you see who's next to you?" She had an idea, but she hoped to God that it wasn't --

"Kelsey! Oh God, sweetheart, look at you. I can't believe I mixed you up in whatever this is." He shouted, "Kelsey, honey, Wake up! Wake up, and let me know you're okay!"

Silence answered him.

-------------------

"Now for phase two, Clara. We will find Marky, intimidate him, and let him know who we have, and what we want. Agnes is sure it will work."

"Alright, Madame. It had better."

"Zis is his home. Let's go."

-------------------

Mark paced the loft, worried. Neither Roger nor Joanne had returned to the loft. He tried to tell himself that he was just overreacting, but something about Joanne being five hours late and Rog being three hours late unsettled him.

A knock issued on the door.

Finally. Maybe it'd be them, or at least maybe he'd get some answers.

He opened it, surprised at who he found at his doorstep.

"Madame?"

"Marky. Sit down."

What was this? Like he didn't have enough to deal with Mauvaise was now coming to his home to command him? He didn't even want to know how she found out where it was. And she was treating it like it was hers, like she could offer Mark a seat! It was a little much. Even Mark had to draw the line somewhere.

"Madame, this is -my home-. If you need to discuss anything with me, it needs to be at the office. I'm sorry, but you have to leave." his voice quavered a little. He cleared his throat. "Now." he added in a failed attempt to be menacing.

"Then I guess Clara and I will be going." What? Mauvaise was backing down? Maybe he could be a little threatening. He reminded him to tell Roger about it when he finally got his sorry ass home.

Mauvaise turned to leave, before pivoting back to face Mark. "Oh yes, Marky…Just one more thing. Agnes would like to know if you want her to tell Roger or Joanne anything

from you."

"You have Roger and Joanne?" Mark stammered. But she couldn't have them, Roger at a gig after his lesson with…Clara… oh shit…but Joanne…Joanne was walking from the tango studio…alone…

"Oh God." He went and sat down on the couch before his feet collapsed beneath him. "What do you want?"

"You."

-------------------

"So we have to figure out how to get out of here."

"Genius statement, Rog. And just how do you propose we do that?"

"Do you have a pocketknife?"

"What?"

"Indiana Jones escapes with a pocketknife in The Last Crusade. He cuts his ropes and frees his father and himself before they're engulfed in flames."

Joanne sighed. "No, I do not have a pocketknife. That's only film anyway. There must be a -plausible- way to get out of here."

"Well, do you have any ideas?"

"How loose are your ropes?"

"Tighter than Mark's underpants. Yours?"

"He wears boxers, Roger."

"Your point? My statement still stan--how do you know?"

Joanne blushed. "Nevermind how I know, it's not helping us think of a way out. Mine may be just loose enough that I can get one of my hands out…. I hope I can. Maybe then I can get the other out, and try to get my cords off."

"Okay, good plan."

Joanne struggled against her cords, trying to get one of her hands free….It was no use.

"It isn't working."

"Damnit."

"Joanne? Rog?"

"Kelsey!" they both shouted in unison.

"Oh God, baby are you alright?" Roger asked concerned.

"I think so. What happened?"

"We were kidnapped it appears. Clara knocked Rog out, and she was the same person who knocked me out. We think it might be connected to Mauvaise."

"Mauvaise?"

"Huge French woman, uglier than sin. She takes lessons and the tango studio, and she kind of stalks Mark."

"Does she wear a fake mole?" Kelsey asked disgustedly remembering her attacker.

"Yeah, she does, though half the time it's peeling off."

"She was the one who knocked me out."

"She saw Mark and I…" a soft blush dusted Joanne's cheeks, "well…we were kissing, and…"

"A jealous stalker." Kelsey stated, showing she understood. "So that leaves us where exactly?"

"We don't actually know. Roger and I were just trying to brainstorm how to get out of here. How tight are your ropes?"

Kelsey pulled her ropes taught. "Tight as Richard Simmons' workout shorts."

"Damn." Joanne sighed. "Well, Kels…do you have any ideas?"

"Anyone got a pocketknife?"

-------------------

"Me?" Mark gulped, -hard-. Unpleasant thoughts began to race through his head. There were various things Mauvaise could want him for and each one he thought of was more unpleasant than the previous.

"Yes, Marky. You. Agnes wants to have you for her own. Forever."

"Forever, Madame?" Oh shit.

"Yes, Marky. You will marry Agnes."

"Marry you?!?" Oh God. How could Mark allow her to do this to him? Where was his backbone? "Madame, I -cannot- marry you. I -will not-!" Mark was getting quite desperate.

"You will not marry Agnes?" her tone said that she was calm, but she could not hide the venom in her voice. "Then Roger and Joanne and the other girl will die."

How could he send them to their deaths? He looked at Mauvaise and gave an involuntary shudder. How could he bear a lifetime of that torment?

But how could he not?

His friends -lives- were on the line. And if he married Mauvaise they would live. Who was he to value his own self-comfort over the lives of his best-friend and his lover?

_My lover. _

Mark sighed. Marrying Mauvaise meant that he and Joanne could never be together, though things had finally begun to work out. But what was a lifetime of loneliness and empty feelings when her life was at stake?

"It doesn't appear that I have much choice, Madame." he said quietly, finally broken. "Let them live and I will do as you wish."

"Agnes thought you would see it her way."

-------------------

"Spoons?" Joanne raised her eyebrow.

"Yeah," Roger explained. "We can spoon our way out of here, after we make paper maché heads, like those convicts did from Alcatraz. I saw it in that Clint Eastwood flick."

"And just how do you propose we make those heads?"

"With hair from the barber shop." Roger was bouncing up and down in his chair, animatedly talking about his idea.

"What barber shop?" Kelsey smirked.

"The one in the-- oh yeah. Well damn."

"Now c'mon guys. We really need to get serious about this." Joanne said exasperated. "We need to find a solution, because it's evident that no one is going to find us here."

Just as Joanne spoke the basement door creaked open. The room flooded with more light and Joanne could vaguely make out a young woman's figure descending, followed by--Oh God! Mark! She could tell by his thin frame, and the glasses as a scarf hung limply from his shoulders-- Mauvaise and a man she had never seen before. They came closer, the young woman, now recognizable as Clara, carried a lantern and a gun as she led the others toward the captives.

"Joanne!" Mark ran to her side. "Oh, sweetheart, are you okay? Are you hurt? Oh God I was so worried!" He stroked her cheek, content just to be close enough to her to touch her again.

"Mark. You belong to Agnes. You no longer know this woman. Come here."

Mark looked apologetically and longingly at Joanne, before returning to Madame Mauvaise's side, fragile and small.

"Cousin, you will marry us now, and when we are done, these--" she nodded her head toward captives, "will act as witnesses. And for you, Marky--" she looked at her husband-to-be, "They will be your guarantee to complete the ceremony. Then you will finally belong to Agnes!"

"May I begin?" the man who was Mauvaise's cousin asked.

Mauvaise nodded her consent. The priest cleared his throat.

"Marriage. Marriage is what brings us together today. Marriage--that blessed arrangement--that dream within a dream. And love, true love, will follow you forever and ever… So treasure your love…"

"Can we cut this quicker, cousin? Agnes grows impatient."

"Alright. Agnes, do you?"

"I do."

"Mark, do you?"

"I…I..." he stammered… "I d-." he swallowed.

"Clara." Madame said, nodding toward the young woman. She grinned, understanding, and cocked the gun she was holding and pointed it straight at Joanne.

"Ask him again, cousin." Mauvaise commanded.

Mark looked from Joanne to Mauvaise, his fate decided for him.

He opened his mouth to utter those two dreaded words.

All of a sudden the basement door burst in with a squad of federal agents, with flashlights and guns pointed in all directions, with Chelsea at the forefront. She personally had her gun aimed at Mauvaise.

"Drop your weapons and do not move," she commanded. She turned her head toward Mark. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I didn't…it didn't work. But you…Chelsea what in the world…"

"I'll explain it all to you at the station. TJ, free those captives."

"Yes, ma'am…my pleasure." he said while going with a knife to cut the cords that bound Roger, Kelsey and Joanne.

"Let's get out of here. TJ…you think you can handle the girl? Cuff her, and take her in your car. Al, you get the man." she grinned wickedly. "Mauvaise is mine."

-------------------

With Joanne safe in his arms at the station, and Mauvaise and her posse incarcerated, Mark finally asked Chelsea, "So what happened anyway?"

"Well, we'd been following this Mauvaise character for a while, and when we learned that she was taking lessons at your studio, I was sent in to watch her. This isn't the first time she's done this. The others weren't so lucky…she married them and when she got bored she had them killed."

"Oh God. How many were there before me?"

"Three. You would've been her fourth. Every time she's evaded us, but we got her this time." Chelsea said triumphantly. "All that's left is for you four to sign your statements and testify in the courts and we're sure to get her locked up."

"No problem." Joanne said strongly. "I don't think we'll have any problem with that."

"TJ! Can you get the papers?" Chelsea called over her shoulder. "He's my assistant on this case." He came and handed her the papers. "Thanks." she smiled at him.

She distributed the papers and pens to each of them, and they signed their names.

"All right, guys, you're free to go."

"So I guess this means you won't be back at the office Monday?" Mark asked her grinning.

"No, I'm afraid you'll have to find a new secretary. I might come around once in a while though."

"I'd like that." He turned to Joanne, Roger and Kelsey. "Ready to go?"

"Definitely." Roger answered.

-------------------

"Attention everyone! I have an announcement!" Roger stood up at The Life, where the gang (or what was left of it) was in full force. Collins had made a special trip down and Maureen had reconciled her emotion and had turned up with Daniel in tow to celebrate her friends' success.

"I am so happy to be alive right now," he started laughing. "And recently I have realized how short life can be, and I am so grateful that Kelsey walked into my life." A faint blush painted Kelsey's face. "And I just wanted to ask her, here, in front of all of you…" he bowed to one knee and took out a ring. "Will you marry me?" She squealed in delight and kissed him hard.

When they parted he said "I'll take that as a yes." and everyone laughed and applauded.

"Oh! I have an announcement too!" Maureen shouted gleefully, drawing the attention back to her. "Daniel and I are moving to LA! We got jobs as actors in a new film!"

"That's great Mo!" Joanne said, excited for the diva.

"It is a great opportunity." Mark admitted. "We'll miss you. Don't forget us when you're famous."

"Oh I won't!" Maureen giggled. "Don't worry, Pookies."

"Well, -I- have work tomorrow, so I gotta get some sleep." Joanne yawned. "Ready to go Mark?"

"Yeah, I gotta find a new secretary tomorrow. 'Night guys!"

There was a chorus of "Goodnight's" for the two and they set off, walking back to the loft hand in hand.

Once in bed, lying comfortably in each other's arms, Mark spoke up.

"Joanne?" he whispered

"Mmmm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too.

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**A/N:**

That's all folks! That's the end! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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